


like ships in the night

by sharoncarters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharoncarters/pseuds/sharoncarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of SHIELD, they all have some rebuilding to do. But sometimes it's nice to not have to do it alone, you know? Takes place after Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Sharon Carter-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long time coming tbh. i'm the biggest sharon stan (as referenced [here](https://twitter.com/sharoncarterss/status/628402478418018304), [here](https://twitter.com/sharoncarterss/status/628792109848395776), [here](https://twitter.com/sharoncarterss/status/632646860956651520), and [here](https://twitter.com/sharoncarterss/status/635897224690561024). yeah) and even bigger steve/sharon stan (see my steve/sharon tag on [tumblr](https://www.jessaminelovelace.tumblr.com/tagged/steve+x+sharon)). i love these two so much and this fic is basically what i would like to happen in an ideal world, if i got everything i wanted and marvel didn't disappoint me.

"Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground."

- Mark Z. Danielewski[  
](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13974.Mark_Z_Danielewski)

 

* * *

 

Sharon knows that it’s hard for Steve to reconcile the different versions of her inside of his head. Or, at least, she assumes it is. Because there’s so many different ones that even _she_ has a hard time keeping track. There she was, night after night, as Kate, even though she had no clue who Kate even was, outside of being a nurse. And that had been strategic, anyway. His mother was a nurse. It had made him more sympathetic to her, or at least that’s what SHIELD had written in the file they gave her. 

Then she’d blown her cover that night she’d tried to warn him about his intruder, no matter how necessary it was. And then there she was, Agent 13, in her corporate getup at work, him walking right by her. _Neighbor_ , he’d said, no trace of the kindness he’d shown her outside of their respective apartments that night. He still had no idea who she was, then, she’d decided after that exchange. It had made her double take, sure, but it wasn’t surprising. Months of dodging him had led up to that moment, and afterwards it all went to hell anyway. It didn’t make much of a difference for her to keep her cover after that. 

It had been really hard for her to lie to him. She didn’t like doing it, but it was her job. It was easier for her to justify it to herself when she thought that she was just doing it to keep him safe. Those nights where she knocked on his door to ask for sugar or milk or eggs, or _whatever_ it was flighty Kate needed to bake those nonexistent cookies, they were lies. She’d really just wanted to check on him, make sure he was okay. More than one night she’d heard him crying, which broke her heart. She’d spent lots of nights doing the same, before she was assigned to be his watcher. 

The extra visits were a little outside of her job description, but she couldn’t help it. What did SHIELD think, really? That they’d sit her right next to him and expect her _not_ to want to get to know him? Fat chance.  

He was different than Aunt Peggy had made him out to be. Sadder, definitely. But still kind. And still awful with women, even though he was a complete gentleman. What she’d really wanted to do was invite him inside, take him up on that coffee offer. But that would’ve been weird. Wrong, somehow. She knew her boundaries. She knew he still loved Peggy, despite the years between them. And she knew how special Aunt Peggy was. Sharon had been obsessed when she was younger, wanting to be just like her. She supposed, in a way, she was more like Peggy than her own mother. Especially when it came to SHIELD. 

Sharon remembers the conversation she had with her parents when she told them she wanted to join. “It’s not your job to protect anyone,” her mother had told her, but she didn’t get it. Sharon wanted to do something important. She wanted to help people, to make a difference. To prove that she could be as good as Aunt Peggy.

So she knows what it’s like to love Peggy, to practically worship her. Peggy’s an incredible woman, memory loss or not. Sharon doesn’t know what kind of person she’d be without her. She and Steve have that in common, at least. 

 

* * *

 

Sharon decides to keep her apartment after everything. After the disaster with Steve, after the fall of SHIELD, after she ends up at the CIA. It’s the one thing she has that’s hers, even though SHIELD found it for her. And she’s half hoping that maybe Steve will come back. She knows about Bucky, though. She’s not an idiot, and she’s friends with Natasha. He has things to deal with, so if he does come back, it won’t be anytime soon, if at all. She’s half hoping that he doesn’t, so that she can just forget about him and move on. 

Too bad the universe has other things planned. 

Sharon opens the door in a pair of blue pajama shorts and her CIA t-shirt, hair thrown into a disheveled bun. She’d been lazy after work; hadn't felt like getting changed. She was expecting the Chinese food delivery guy, so she’s in for a huge shock when she opens the door and Steve Rogers is standing there, casual as can be. She’s had a few glasses of wine, not enough to make her incapable of going to work the next day, but enough to make her think, god, he looks so _good_. She’ll never get tired of seeing him in regular clothes, dressed like he’s not Captain America in his spare time. She’s never met a man who could make a white t-shirt look like it was tailored to him specifically. 

She fumbles with the money in her hands that she was supposed to give to the delivery guy, almost dropping it. A stray bill manages to slip out of her grasp and he leans over to pick it up, gentlemanly as ever. She’s still sort of in shock, but she manages to get out a surprised, “Steve”, as he hands her the money back. Their hands brush and she pulls away as fast as humanly possible. She doesn’t want to make it weird, although she realizes after she does it that her action might’ve had the opposite effect. 

His lips curve downwards. “Agent Carter,” he greets her, and she grins at that, trying to lighten the mood. No more hiding, then. Natasha probably spilled the beans. Or Sam, for that matter. It seemed like everyone always figured out news before he did, which was totally unfair. Steve had always been too trusting for his own good, though; this she learned from months of observing, even after she’d pretty much inferred the same thing from Aunt Peggy’s stories. “Special insight”, her supervisor had called it, right after he’d handed her her new assignment. 

“So,” she asks, finally pulling herself together and leaning against her door, “who told you?” His eyes flick down towards her chest, and she selfishly wishes it were for a reason other than the letters printed there. He probably didn’t know about her sudden job change, but a girl has to make an income somehow. 

“Fury, actually.” The way he says it is nonchalant, sort of smug, and she suspects he wanted her to be surprised by the information. She’s not, though. Nick Fury has always been a stubborn old man, he wouldn’t let himself get killed that easily. 

“Huh.” Sharon doesn’t know what to do then, with the silence. Did he come here for an apology? Did he want to tell her off? She definitely wasn’t anticipating that he would show up at her door, no matter how much she silently hoped for it. She never thought this would actually happen. 

“Do you want to—"

“Would it be alright if I—"

They both go to speak at the same time, and then laugh simultaneously at their stumble. 

“Come inside,” she tells him, not even bothering to phrase it like a question. She holds her breath when he walks by her, although not really sure why. 

He looks absurdly large on her sofa, broad shoulders and all, and she wants to laugh but doesn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“So,” she says, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch, depositing her money on the coffee table. She feels slightly more herself, now. “Do you make house calls often?” 

He gives her an embarrassed laugh, looking down at his hands, which are currently resting in his lap. It’s oddly endearing, to see him so shy, even though she’s been on the receiving end before. It’s more… _real_ this time, at least to her. It’s amazing to Sharon that there are so many layers to him that she still doesn’t know, even after months of observation, after years of listening to Peggy talk about him. It’s incredible to her that he can be Captain America and also the guy who snarked at her at work and the same guy that showed up at her apartment to tell her—well, she doesn’t know what exactly, but he’s here. 

“I just thought we got off on the wrong foot, you know?" he says, and _yeah_ , she does know. It’s mostly her fault, too, not that she was doing anything particularly wrong. 

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” she tells him. In different circumstances they probably could’ve met each other on better terms. Peggy might’ve introduced them, even. But they both worked for SHIELD, and it’s not really known for its transparency. “I just had to do my job.” 

“And what exactly was that job?” Steve snaps, looking up and catching her eyes. The wine churns in her stomach. Where the _hell_ is the delivery guy with her food? He would be a welcome distraction at this point. She knew Steve would be angry, though, somewhere deep down she knew that. He’s been lied to so much, and she’s just another person that has disappointed him. 

“Just to watch you. To make sure you were okay. To make sure you… were adjusting well, I guess.” 

“Adjusting,” he deadpans, smirking a little. That’s better. More like the Steve she’d (sort of) gotten to know. 

“Right.” She looks down, bites her lip, tries to hide her smile. Looks back up and glances at the door. Anything to not have to deal with his intense stare. 

Finally, _finally_ , the blessed doorbell rings, and Sharon practically leaps off of the couch. She grabs her money off the coffee table and runs to the door, paying the man in a hurry and grabbing her food. She busies herself in the kitchen just to buy some time. Talking to Steve is _intense_ , to say the least. His presence is almost overwhelming, the way he takes up a room without even meaning to. He’s just so honest, she doesn’t know what to do with it.  

Of course he walks over to help, anyway. Because that’s the kind of guy that he is. She makes him up a plate, with extra helpings, of course. She’s seen the way that he eats. A side effect of the serum, probably. She’s never been in the right position to ask. 

They do all of this in silence and make their way back to the couch. Sharon’s just shoved a forkful of noodles in her mouth when he speaks again. 

“So what do you think, then?” he asks her with a wry grin, “Am I ‘adjusting’?”  

“You could afford to loosen up a little,” she teases, shrugging, “but yeah. Sure.” 

“So, your insomniac aunt…” he takes a pause, but she knows where it’s headed. “Peggy?” She answers him with a simple nod. He nods to himself, looking down at his plate, and takes another bite, as if he knew all along. 

“I don’t blame you,” he finally says after he’s done chewing. All of his food is gone now, and she’s only halfway through hers. “You were just doing what you thought was right. You couldn’t have known about everything going on with SHIELD and Pierce. The infiltration.” He frowns at that. It must’ve been horrible for him, to see everything that Peggy stood for go down in flames. It definitely hurt her, but she figures it just hit him closer to home. He’d been in it since practically the beginning. 

“I was there,” she tells him. He looks surprised to hear it. Guess he’s not the only one sharing secrets tonight. “At the Triskelion. ’S how I got this,” she tells him, turning to show him her right arm. The scratch Rumlow gave her is still a bit red, and hurts like a motherfucker. She’d tried to constantly treat it, at first, rubbing Neosporin on it daily, but had given up soon enough. She’d known going into this job that she’d come out with scars. She just wasn’t prepared for the ridiculous amount of them that she’d end up with. 

Steve surprises her by leaning in and running his fingers over the scar, making her shiver. Sharon doesn’t know when they’d moved closer together on the couch. She also doesn’t know what compels her to speak, (probably the wine), but she does anyway. “I wanted to say yes,” she blurts, and his eyes flick up from her scar to meet her own. They’re incredibly blue from this angle and she can’t look away. “When you asked me for coffee. I wanted to say yes, but… it’s complicated.”

“You could say that again,” he says with a laugh, letting go of her arm. “Seems like that’s a recurring theme in my life these days.”  

“Get used to it, Captain,” she grins, feeling giddy for no good reason at all, high off of him. Just him, and his overwhelming presence in her tiny apartment. The one thing she couldn’t let go of, even though she’d given up everything else. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.” He laughs again at that, and it makes her smile. She likes that she can make him laugh. He’s done it more times in this one night than in his entire time as her neighbor. It gives her an extraordinary sense of accomplishment. 

Sharon could tell that he was just lonely, when she first started watching him, and she sure as hell knows what that feels like. “Hey,” she tells him, getting serious for a second. “If you ever need, you know. Someone to talk to, feel free to stop by. Or I could, um,” she hates that she gets so tongue-tied around him. Like she had that night he asked her out. What kind of a person puts disease-ridden scrubs into a community laundry room? That lie had been so flimsy she’d been surprised afterwards that he hadn’t figured it out right then. “Give you my number. We can get that coffee.” She blushes at the look he gives her, but sticks out her hand for his cellphone anyway. She knows he has one, she’s seen him use it.  

He tugs it out of his jeans pocket and hands it over, and she quickly adds her number in, making a face for the camera afterwards to add as her contact picture. Maybe he’ll look at it and think of tonight, instead of all those times she lied to him. Here’s hoping. 

“I should get going,” Steve says, after they sit in silence for a few minutes. Sharon’s life has been filled with so much noise lately that it’s nice to just relax every once in a while. It’s a surprisingly comforting silence, for the short amount of time that it lasts. “Thank you for dinner.” She just nods, getting up to walk him to the door. She may have been tipsy when he’d first arrived, but she was completely sober now, and she wasn’t an animal. She had manners. 

Steve gives her a warm smile and a shy wave as he goes, and her breath catches a bit in her throat. Sharon watches him walk down the hallway and really just… doesn’t want him to leave. She doesn’t know where he’s living now, since he’s been more active with the Avengers and his apartment was compromised. She figured he wouldn’t have wanted to live next to her, anyway, especially after he first found out. 

He turns around to look at her, just for a second before he goes down the stairs, and she lets her mouth twitch into a smile, and there’s… something. She doesn’t know what it is, but it’s her and it’s Steve and it’s _something_. 

 

* * *

 

She gets a call from Natasha afterwards, and realizes that it’s close to one AM. Her interaction with Steve had taken longer than she’d realized. 

Nat doesn’t say much, as is her way, but she laughs when Sharon tells her that Steve stopped by. “So he finally grew some balls, then,” she says, and Sharon can practically _see_ her smirk.   

“Want to tell me exactly what that means?” Sharon asks, and Nat answers with a flippant, “Nah.”

“You can ask him yourself, when he calls to ask you out.”

“What makes you so sure he will?”

“Please, Carter. You’re cute, and he liked you even when he didn’t know who you were. The guy can’t hold a grudge to save his life, trust me.” 

“Uh uh. We’ll see about that.” She stops with the banter then. “Nat… you’re safe, right? You’d tell me if you weren’t?” 

Nat is quiet for a few seconds. “Of course. But don’t worry too much, okay? I know what I need to do.” Sharon nods, taking the information in. It’s not completely reassuring, but it’s Natasha, so it’s enough. 

“I’ll see you around.” 

“See you too, Blondie.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think! i'm not sure how many chapters this will be, as many as i feel like i guess. come visit me on tumblr and twitter to yell about these two! i'm always a slut for sharon carter headcanons


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so. some logistics. this is probably the fastest that i'll post a next chapter, beause i start school in a week. all of the information that i'm going off of is from the mcu wiki, with some knowledge of the comics, and the rest is civil war speculation. going off of the time of captain america tws (which takes place in 2013), tony is 45, steve is 32, sharon is 29 (i used emily vancamp's birthday for this), because i'm setting this story in 2015. this chapter takes place in august 2015. peggy is 94 at this time, i guesstimated angie's age as a little younger, and i used birthdays to figure out everything else. if this is all boring and confusing i'm sorry. i have a timeline if anyone wants to see it, but probably not.

"You are  
a minute  
of quiet

in a loud  
shouting  
world."

\- Gabriel Gadfly

 

* * *

 

Sharon smooths down her black dress in front of the mirror and tries not to cry. “How incredibly morbid,” she knows Aunt Peggy would say. Her aunt was always good at making light of a terrible situation. She never took it too far, though, just enough to make sure that Sharon knew things would get better. Peggy was always fond of remembering the good memories instead of the bad, and even though she’d been through her fair share of trauma, she never let it get to her for longer than a few days. She was an incredibly strong person, the kind of person Sharon wishes she could be all the time. 

When her uncle Gabe died she remembers curling up in Peggy’s lap and crying, and even though her aunt had held her and stroked her hair and told her everything was going to be okay, Sharon had felt the tears fall in her hair, anyway. Still, after the funeral, Peggy had made the best of things, telling Sharon for the millionth time how she’d met her husband and how they fell in love. Sharon never got tired of the story. 

The thought of Peggy’s stories makes her feel a bit better—not enough, though. She has a lifetime of memories and stories, but she can’t help but want more. She can’t help but feel like Peggy was taken from her too soon, no matter how old she was.  

Sharon feels like she just saw her, which makes this all the more painful. Her aunt had been lucid just last week when she had visited, laughing and recounting old memories. She’d actually known who Sharon was, which was a rare occurrence this late into her condition. It was just old age that took her. Logically, Sharon knew that. Peggy’s Alzheimer's was awful, but her age was what really cemented her death. It still stings to think the word, even though she’d had days to process the news. That didn’t stop it from hurting.  

First her parents, then Trip, and now this. Sharon had been to too many funerals in her lifetime. It felt like everyone close to her was dying and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

She hears a honk through her window and grabs her purse, taking a deep breath and locking the door on her way out. Sharon takes another breath to steady herself before getting into the cab and greeting her Aunt Angie. She tries to give her a weak smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. She’s not feeling up to faking, today of all days. 

“Oh, honey,” Angie says, gray hair (perfectly curled, though, she wouldn’t expect any less of the Broadway diva) tickling Sharon’s cheek as she pulls her in for a hug. She allows herself a few dry sobs before pulling away. “It’s going to be okay. It was only a matter of time, really. And Peg had a great life.” Sharon tries to curve the side of her mouth up, but it just feels wrong. “I’ll probably be the next to go,”Angie adds, using her humor to cover up her true feelings, as always, but Sharon lets it slide. Everyone has their own way of coping. 

“It just _sucks_ ,” she whispers, chest heaving from the effort of trying not to cry. “It’s so fucking _unfair_.” 

“Your aunt was a fighter till the end, Share. Don’t you forget it.”  

SHIELD is good at teaching their agents to keep their feelings in check, but sometimes it’s just too _hard_. So she hugs Angie again and tries to hold it together, at least for the entire car-ride there. 

 

* * *

 

The attendance for the funeral is unsurprisingly low. Maria had done a great job of planning the funeral, but SHIELD was just too damaged for many people to hear about it, let alone show up. The organization is still fractured, agents shattered and spread out and confused. Sharon herself has no idea if it can ever be repaired. 

The file leak didn’t help put a lot of people on their side, either. The American public hates being lied to, even if it _is_ for their own good. Still, Peggy is being honored for her time during the war and after. She’s being buried at Arlington. Sharon thinks she’d be kind of proud of that.  

So, the low attendance make sense for the current situation. Besides, everyone that needs to be there, is. Sharon spots Tony first, among all of her distant cousins and family members, leaning into Pepper to whisper something to her. Sharon likes Pepper; she wishes that they had more reason to interact. But the redhead spends most of her time in New York, at the newly renovated Avengers Tower, so they aren’t that close. 

Still, Sharon is thankful for the warm smile Pepper gives her when she ambles over. Tony doesn’t say anything snarky, for once, and just pulls her into a tight hug. She knows what Peggy means to him. To everyone, but him especially. 

He’d taken care of her a lot when she was younger. She remembers him as a teenager, all awkward limbs and no scruff yet, humoring her by giving her dolls funny voices. She remembers him and Peggy and Angie on cold winter days, her parents at work, with hot chocolate and Peggy’s stories to keep them content. Those are the kind of memories that can never be taken away. Her heart swells as he clutches her to his chest. 

She remembers when his parents died, too. She was only five at the time, barely old enough to understand what was going on, when Tony lost basically his entire family. A car accident, is what they told them, but she knows now that that was a lie. Aunt Peggy had dressed her in a tiny black dress to fit her skinny toddler frame, which she remembers was extremely itchy for some reason, brushed her then white-blonde hair, telling her to be extra nice to Tony because he was really sad that day. 

“What for?” she had asked, and Peggy had just smiled sadly at her. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older, my darling.” She loved when Peggy called her that. It made her feel so special.  

She’d hugged Tony extremely tight at the funeral, like he had done just now. It was the first and only time she had ever seen him cry, standing next to him while the two coffins were lowered into the ground, gripping his hand in her own tiny one. She remembers that he was trembling. Tony had reciprocated the support when her own parents had died in the same way years later. The world wasn’t that creative when it came down to details, apparently. 

“How are you holding up?” Pepper asks quietly, and Sharon throws her a weak but appreciative smile. 

“As well as I can, I guess. It just feels so sudden, even though I know it’s not.” 

“I could tell you that it gets easier,” Tony says, voice rough with emotion, “but it doesn’t.” He throws her a wry grin, trying to be more like himself, and she smiles her first genuine smile of the day. Pepper elbows him a little, and he gives her a look that says “What?” and she just rolls her eyes. 

Sharon leaves them to it. 

She spots Steve in the crowd when the funeral starts, all decked out in his military uniform. The old one — the one he wore before he was “Captain America” the symbol, when he was just Steve, the soldier. He’s standing next to Sam, staring at the coffin grimly. She can’t look away from him. 

Angie leans over to whisper something to her. “He sure looks good, doesn’t he?” she grins slyly, looking over at him. “Are you going to get on that, or should I?”

“Aunt _Angie_ ,” Sharon chides, cheeks flushing. _So_ not appropriate for a funeral.   

“Oh, come on,” Angie responds cheekily, “Peggy would want him to get on with his life. And she’d want the same for you. I saw you checking him out.”

“I was not—“ 

“Sure you weren’t.” 

Sharon rolls her eyes, and bites down on her bottom lip, hard, trying to pay attention. She lets her eyes wander, though, and they widen when she catches a flash of black behind a tree. She couldn’t be sure, because she’s only ever seen him in pictures, but she could _swear_ that she just saw Bucky Barnes. _Shit_. 

She tries to concentrate on what the priest is saying, but her eyes keep flickering over to the tree, and yeah, it’s definitely him. He isn’t even _trying_ to hide, what is he _thinking_? The funeral might be decent cover, but he’s not even making an effort. She has to tell Steve. 

The funeral continues, despite Angie trying to distract her, and even though she’s on hyper alert because of Barnes’ sudden appearance, a few tears manage to escape when Steve helps to lower Peggy’s coffin into the ground. His lips are set into a thin line, and she sort of just wants to go over there and hug him, as if that would help make him feel better. 

A memory comes to her, quick and sudden, of a day she’d seen him leave Peggy’s facility. It was a Wednesday, and Sharon always went to see her aunt on Wednesdays. Routine was good for her, the doctors had said. She’d just turned the corner when she saw him ambling down the stairs. Cursing under her breath, she had considerably slowed her pace, praying that her cover wouldn’t be ruined.  

But oh, he’d looked so _sad_. It physically hurt to look at him, the way his shoulders slumped and his hands clenched into fists in his pockets. She knew firsthand how Peggy’s illness sometimes took over. It wasn’t Peggy’s fault, obviously, but it hurt all the same when Sharon came in and her aunt had no idea who she was at all. 

That night she had lied awake for hours staring at the ceiling, pretending like she hadn’t heard Steve crying. Pretending like she didn’t want to do the same. 

 

* * *

 

Angie stays by her side the entire time, which Sharon is immeasurably grateful for. Some people come by to pay their respects, some don’t. A lot of SHIELD agents don’t know her last name, which she’d done on purpose. She didn’t want her job to feel like a handout, like something that had been given to her because she was related to its founder. 

Dum Dum makes his way over after everything’s done and pulls first her, and then Angie, into huge hugs. One hundred and three years old and still kicking, ever full of life, he turns to her. 

“Look at you, girl. I haven’t seen you since you were sixteen years old.”

“Uncle Dugan,” Sharon laughs, happy to see someone with such a warm presence. She really needed it, despite all of Angie’s best efforts. “Have you talked to Steve yet?” Instead of asking him, she should really be making an effort to talk to Steve himself, to tell him what she saw. She feels high strung, like her entire body is vibrating with the need to speak.  

“Oh yeah, but he’s such a downer. I know he’s upset and all, but come on. Peggy went out kickin’, he knows that.”

“They didn’t have much time together,” Sharon tells him, knowing how painful it must’ve been for Steve to lose Peggy not once, but twice. “Cut him some slack.” 

“You’re right, as always. Look at her, Ange, she’s all grown up. I kind of miss the pigtails, though.” Sharon rolls her eyes, looking around for any sign of Steve’s uniform or for a glimpse of Wilson. Where one is, the other shouldn’t be far behind. “Hows about you let your Uncle Dugan get you a drink. You’re old enough for that, right?” 

“Yes,” she sighs, unable to help the grin that spreads over her face. “But how about we do the drinking at the reception, okay?” She’ll find Steve there, and she’ll tell him. 

 

* * *

The reception is held in one of Howard’s old homes that Angie lives in now. She’d moved here after Peggy got sick, telling Sharon over the phone that the place in New York just seemed empty without her, Howard, Tony, and Sharon filling it up. Sharon’s visited as much as she could outside of work and her old job of tailing Steve. Angie always appreciated it, scarce as it was. 

Steve makes his way over to Sharon while she’s pouring herself some punch. She’s put her hair up in a ponytail, unable to take the late summer heat any longer. He looks surprisingly unaffected, which she envies. He always manages to look so calm, so collected. She has no idea how he does it.  

“I didn’t know you knew Dugan,” he opens with, glancing at her from the side. She pours him some punch, silently handing it over. This wasn’t the way she was planning on having this conversation. “Or Tony,” he adds, frowning. His forehead creases in thought. 

“Tony and I spent a lot of time together when I was really young. His dad gave Aunt Peggy a house. And Dugan came to visit a lot, more than the other Commandos. He’s a nice guy.” She lets a smile settle across her face, even though it feels wrong considering she’s at a funeral reception, and the fact that she feels like she’s keeping yet _another_ secret from him, despite the fact that she only saw Barnes minutes ago. By now he’s probably run off, and it’s her fault that Steve has missed him yet again. She lets her smile fade. 

Steve nods, tipping back the watered-down drink. “I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you,” he says in response, and she lets herself lean against the table; sips some punch. 

“Apparently.” He looks away and she lets her eyes roam his face, just for a while. His jaw is set, she can see the muscles in it twitching. He’s shaved recently, too, she can smell it on him, and he got a hair cut. His uniform looks good on him. Sharon might even prefer it to his Captain America suit. She goes back to sipping her punch when he turns to her again. She doesn’t know why she can’t just open her mouth and _tell_ him.  

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he asks, and her eyes widen. His do too, seconds after, when he realizes his mistake. “To talk, I mean. Without everyone else.” 

She finds herself nodding, slowly. She puts her drink down on the table, sees Sam eyeing them, watches as Tony and Angie talk on one of the couches in the large room. “Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand, which is much larger than hers and extremely warm, but not uncomfortably so. 

 

* * *

 

She leads him to an old study, one that Howard probably hadn’t used in years even when he was alive. The man had so many houses she doesn’t know how he managed them all. She spots an old picture on the desk, though. One of her and Tony. She picks it up, rubbing the tarnished frame with her thumb.  

Tony’s sixteen, maybe seventeen, and she couldn’t be more than a year old, sitting on his shoulders, giggling. She takes in her chubby cheeks and bright blonde hair, smiling fondly to herself. 

It's odd to think of herself as ever being that little.  

Sharon situates herself on the desk, letting her legs swing back and forth. Steve walks around, taking in the room, and makes his way over to her. She scoots to the left to let him sit next to her. His hand moves towards the photo, and she hands it to him. He studies it for a while, and she can’t help but grin in response to the warm smile that emerges on his face. 

“You and Tony?” he asks, and she nods. “Cute.” 

“Ha,” she says drily in response. “What happened, right?” She wrinkles her nose, slightly embarrassed. 

“Were you two close?” he asks, and she can tell that he’s genuinely interested. That’s always new to her. When people find out she’s related to Peggy Carter or that she knows Tony Stark it’s usually always “Would you introduce me?” or “What are they like?”. With Steve it’s different. He’s a celebrity himself; their fame doesn’t affect him. 

“Yeah,” Sharon nods, swinging her feet again. “More so when I was younger, but still. He was like an older brother to me.” 

Steve is silent. “Were your parents here today?” 

She blinks. Swallows. Blinks some more. “They died a while back,” she tells him. “We had a falling out when I joined SHIELD, but we were working on it. Car accident,” she adds, as an afterthought. She hadn’t thought about it too deeply in a while, actually, but the wound still felt fresh, like the one on her arm that’s throbbing now.  

His hand finds hers. “I’m sorry.” 

Sharon takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you. It means a lot.” 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and at first she thinks he means her parents, but then she realizes he’s probably talking about Peggy. 

“Not really,” she answers truthfully, “but I will be.” 

“It’s hard…” he starts, his hand tightening on her own. “To share her. Do you know what I mean?” 

“Yeah,” she breathes, surprised. “Yeah. Some people here didn’t even know her. It’s harder when you have… memories. And you think she’s… she’s yours, you know? Aunt Peggy, that’s what she was to me. She was _my_ Aunt Peggy. To these people she’s something else.”  

He nods, eyes flicking towards hers. 

“I feel like I’ve lost my best friend,” she laughs, on the verge of breaking down. She can’t do this in front of him, it’s too embarrassing. She stubbornly wipes at her face, hoping to catch the tears before they fall. This isn’t where this conversation is supposed to be headed, but now that all of the emotion that she’s been holding back is escaping, she can’t stop it. 

Her chest shakes, betraying her, and then she’s sobbing, letting out everything she’d been trying so desperately to keep in check in front of her friends and family. Steve stays silent, softly pulling her towards him and wrapping his arms around her.  

“Shhh,” he whispers, voice deep and rough as he strokes her back. “It’ll be okay,” he says, and that just makes her cry more. 

“I’m so sick of people dying,” she sobs, and hears his breath catch. 

“Me too,” he says, and he sounds so tired. “Me too.” 

She has to pull away, though, has to tell him. If she doesn’t do it now she’ll have missed her chance and then it’ll be too late. She’ll be a liar in his eyes again. “Steve,” Sharon hiccups, trying to control herself. She wipes at her eyes again, not caring about her makeup anymore. “I have to tell you something.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope you guys like this! i'm definitely taking some liberties with the characters and their early years, but it's a long-standing headcanon of mine that tony knows peggy and angie and that he and sharon spent a lot of time together when they were younger because of those two ladies, and peggy and howard's friendship. i also assume that sharon knows/knew a lot of the commandos just because i'm sure that peggy would've loved introducing her. tell me what you guys think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys can i just. let me just say this. i am so bad at plot. i have no idea if this makes sense and i have absolutely NO idea how civil war is going to go, so don't kill me. this fic isn't even really going to focus on civil war at all, mostly just steve's search for bucky and steve/sharon (obviously). so just stick with me. it might even get good at some point. also check out the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/tonystarking/start-of-something-good) i made for this fic!

Quiet but I'm sure, there is something here   
Tell me everything, cause I want to hear  
\- The Fray, Absolute 

 

* * *

 

Steve is silent while she explains to him what she’s seen. Sharon’s stomach churns, because he’s not _saying_ anything, just looking at her with this unreadable expression that she doesn’t know what to do with. 

“Are you sure it was him?” he asks finally, and she’s nodding in response before he even finishes the question. 

“I mean, I can’t be one hundred percent, because I don’t personally know him, but yeah. I’ve seen the files. He looks different now, scruffier, and he had a baseball cap on. But it was him.”  

Steve takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a second, and she finds herself missing having them on her. He opens them and hops off the desk, a quick, desperate movement she can tell is in response to this new information. He takes a few steps away from her, and she can see his shoulders tense. He reaches out and punches the wall, leaving a dent and shaking some books off of the shelves. She doesn’t flinch — she feels like doing the exact same thing, although she couldn’t say that she’d leave as much damage.  

His back is turned to her, now, and she wants more than anything to reach out and place a comforting hand on his back, to do _something_ , but she hesitates when she reaches her hand out and then it’s too late, because he’s turned around again. 

“He dragged me out,” Steve starts, sounding the least Captain America-y she's ever heard him sound. His speech is uncertain, wavering, and most of all _hurt_. She can’t imagine what it’s like for him to have to bury Peggy and have his old best friend show up all in the same day. “We were fighting, that day on the Triskelion, and I fell into the water. I thought it was over for me, but the next thing I knew he was pulling me out of the water and by the time I finished spitting up, he was gone.” 

“So, he…” Sharon’s not sure how to start. “Does he remember? Who he is, I mean? Or was that just… temporary?” 

“He has to remember some things. Enough to show up here, today of all days. I know he does.” She can see the pain in his eyes, the desperate wanting that she herself knows so well. Just… wanting something to go right, for once.  

“We’ll find him, Steve. We will.” He doesn’t look so sure. “What do you want to do, though? Should we look for him?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s too late. He’s long gone by now. We can do a search of the surrounding area tomorrow, but it probably won’t bring up much. He’s been a ghost for so long… he’s too good. We won’t find anything, at least not right away.” 

The quiet surrounds them, and Sharon can almost feel it pulsating, like she can grab it in her hands, an extra organ. She picks at the hem of her dress, looks at the picture of her and Tony, traces the lines of Steve’s face with her eyes. 

He looks so different than she had ever imagined. She’s seen pictures of course, personnel files, the Smithsonian exhibit, and even unseen black and white pictures of him from before the serum that Aunt Peggy had. She’s seen cartoons, old advertisements and pamphlets, but none of them had ever prepared her for actually seeing _him_. 

Steve Rogers is… different. Neither here nor there, a product of conflicting time periods, old and new. He belongs in the past, the uniform that he has on like an extra limb, old and detachable, only brought out when desperately needed. She wants to know how many times he’s actually worn it.

He deserved the life with Peggy — coming home together victorious from the war, getting married, founding SHIELD together. But he’s stuck here, in the future, that life so unfairly ripped away from him. 

What does he have now, instead? The Avengers? A few friends that he closes himself off to? A nosy neighbor that turned out to be a spy? He deserved everything, he should’ve had it. 

Sharon feels another tear slide down her cheek, wishing that things weren’t so completely and utterly _fucked_. She eases herself off the desk, walking over and placing a hand on his arm.   

“I’m really sorry,” she says, and she doesn’t even know what exactly for. For not telling him sooner. For Peggy, and Bucky, her constant lies, the life he could’ve lived but didn’t get to. For everything.  

He nods, eyes trained on his shoes. He looks up at her, and she wonders if he can hear her heart beating as loudly as she can, drowning out everything else.  

“So am I,” he finally whispers, throat tight with emotion. 

 

* * *

 

Things are winding down when they finally make it back to the reception area. Sharon had stopped in one of the many bathrooms to clean herself up and fix her makeup, making sure that she and Steve didn’t walk back in at the same time. She didn’t want people getting ideas. Besides, they had enough to be upset about without thinking that Peggy’s niece had decided to defile Captain America on the day of her aunt’s funeral.  

Not that the thought of her and Steve is particularly upsetting. She doesn’t know. Is it? She doesn’t really want to think about it. Steve’s her friend, now. Or at least she thinks he is. She _wants_ him to be. Sharon shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She doesn't know what she’s thinking. She’s just… confused. And distraught. They all are. 

Sharon notes that most of the guests have left, the only ones remaining being (former) SHIELD agents. She spots Tony and Pepper curled up on a couch, and Sam and Steve conversing in a corner, no doubt discussing their game plan for finding Barnes. Angie and Dugan are talking in the kitchen, which makes Sharon smile for a second. She hasn’t seen them together in a long time.  

She stands in the doorway, not really sure what to do with herself. Everyone is paired off. Luckily, her phone buzzes in her black clutch, giving her something to do. 

She looks at the screen. It’s Natasha.  

Glancing quickly around the room, Sharon ducks back into the hallway and sneaks into an empty room. She knows that Natasha likes her calls private, especially now with all of her secrets out for the world to see. She didn’t need anything else to be revealed, intentionally or not. 

“Hey,” she answers, after unlocking her phone. 

“You okay?” Natasha asks right off the bat, not bothering with pleasantries. She doesn’t like wasting time. It’s one of Sharon’s favorite things about her. 

“As okay as I can be. You?”

“Peachy. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“Don’t be. I know you’re busy. You’re probably somewhere in Canada, for all I know.” She gives a weak laugh, and can picture Nat rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. 

“Actually, I just got back to D.C.” Nat pauses for a second. Sharon’s not angry, if that’s what Natasha is thinking. She knows how hard it is to be a friend and an agent of SHIELD, harder now that the organization is trying to pull itself together — and Nat’s an Avenger to boot. “Want to get blackout drunk?” her friend adds, and Sharon lets out a surprised laugh. 

“There’s probably nothing else that could be better for me right now.” 

“Great. I’ll text you the address.” 

 

* * *

 

Sharon wanders over to where Steve is talking to Sam, after, and leans against the wall, trying to make it seem like she knows what she’s doing. Sam gives her a small smile and tells her he’s sorry for her loss. 

It seems more sincere coming from him than it had coming from some of the other agents that had been in attendance, which wasn’t surprising to her. Steve generally surrounded himself with great people; if he trusted someone, it was for a good reason. She’d learned at least that much from her surveillance. 

Sam’s a nice guy. She wishes she had more time to see him, form some sort of friendship. But he was practically an Avenger now, and Sharon was still shlepping around at the CIA, not really sure what she was doing there. 

“I’m heading out,” she tells Steve, trying to sound somewhat normal, instead of exhausted and ready to sleep for five days. “I’m meeting Natasha.” 

“Oh,” he says, surprised, “I didn’t know she was in town.” 

“Make that the second person who’s shown up out of the blue today,” she jokes, trying to make light of the situation (but probably failing). “But you know how she is.” 

“How’d you get here? You need a ride?” She knows he would’ve offered one to anyone that asked, but it still makes her chest bloom with warmth.  

“Cab,” she tells him, “but it’s fine. I’ve already called another.”  

“You sure?” Sam is watching their exchange with his eyebrows scrunched together, and Sharon suddenly feels self conscious. She knows that he saw them leave to talk earlier — she doesn’t want him to wrongly interpret the conversation. Steve may be gorgeous and kind, but Sharon has limits. She wouldn’t do that to Peggy, or to Steve, for that matter. She doesn’t want to be a cheap substitute for her dead aunt. 

“I’m a big girl,” she tells him, “I can pay for a cab myself. Besides, Nat hangs out with you guys too much. She needs some girl time.” Both of the men laugh at that. 

“I guess I’ll, um,” she gestures vaguely at the door. “Thank you both for coming.”  

She hugs Tony and Pepper goodbye, glancing over at Steve as she does so. 

“Go easy on him,” she tells Tony, and his face becomes fake serious. 

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating.” At least some things never change.  

She makes her way over to the kitchen. It takes a bit of convincing for Angie to let her leave, but Sharon promises to visit more often (she feels so guilty for not visiting already, and even more now that Peggy…well). Dugan gives her a surprisingly tighter hug than she’s anticipating for his age, and Angie gives her a kiss on the cheek.

* * *

 

Nat is already seated at the bar with a drink when Sharon gets there, and grins when she looks up and notices Sharon walking over. 

Sharon orders two drinks off the bat, knowing that she needs them and not caring about the consequences. The CIA had kindly (note the sarcasm) given her the next day off of work, and then after that it was right back to the grind. So she’d have a terrible hangover tomorrow, but oh well, at least she didn’t have to work through it. 

“So,” she starts after downing her first drink, “how was Sokovia?”  

“Mmm,” Nat hums in response. “It was… interesting, to say the least.” She’s not surprised that Sharon’s asking, but then again, pretty much the entire world knows what happened. Ultron hadn’t exactly been subtle. “But at least we got out, you know? Some of us.” Nat frowns, looking down at her glass.

Sharon nods, knowing exactly what that feels like, and takes a sip of her second drink. The alcohol is slowly starting to take effect, and she’s thankful for the warm hum in her veins and the way that her brain is starting to slow down.  

“How are you, though?” Nat asks. “Really.” 

“I’m… devastated. But no more than Steve, I guess. _Shit_. Bucky was at the funeral, did you know?” 

Nat actually looks surprised, which is a first. She shakes her head. “You don’t say.”

“I guess Steve and Sam are going out to look for him tomorrow? Must be nice to have a job that only requires your attention every couple of months.” Nat laughs at that. 

“Speaking of Steve…” she trails off, and Sharon sighs, shifting in her seat. 

“He never called me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Natasha purses her lips. “He’s been busy. Don’t hold it against him, he’ll come around.” Sharon rolls her eyes in response.  

“Why are you so weirdly invested in this?” 

Natasha shrugs, flicking a lock of red hair out of her face. “Don’t know, really. Just think you guys have a lot in common. He needs someone like you.”

“Does he now? And what is it about me that’s so special?” Sharon doesn’t really know if she wants the question answered. 

“You know what it’s like to lose people, a lot more than the rest of us. Both of you loved Peggy and lost her. You’re… spunky.”

Sharon laughs. _Spunky_. She’s not really sure if that’ll sustain a relationship. Sharon’s on her fourth drink by now, having downed them all so fast that she’s almost lost count. It feels nice, though, freeing. She hasn’t been this drunk in a really long time.  

“He still loves her,” she blurts, and Nat raises an eyebrow.  

“Is that why you’re holding yourself back?” 

“I’m not… I’m _not_. Holding myself back. I’m not.” She frowns, not sure why she keeps repeating it, as if the words will change meaning halfway through her sentence. “It’s wrong. We just… can’t.” 

“Whatever you say, Blondie. How about you have one last drink and we take you home. You’ve had enough for tonight, I think.” 

Sharon just nods weakly in response.

* * *

 

Waking up the next morning is a bitch. Not only is her phone ringing, but someone’s knocking on her door, _and_ her head is ringing louder than her phone to boot. She winces, rubbing at her temple with one hand and unlocking her phone with the other, not bothering to see who it is. 

She makes her way over to the door, which someone is still pounding on, ( _Jesus_ , it’s so loud), with her phone in her hand, muttering a quick hello and swinging it open. It stops the pounding, but what’s on the other side is sure to make her headache even worse. 

It’s Steve, for the second time in a row showing up at her house unannounced, phone in hand, Sam Wilson behind him. _Fuck_ , she most look like absolute crap. 

“Hi,” he says, amused, and it reverberates through her skull. Her poor, pounding skull. She realizes belatedly (in her bedraggled, hungover state), that he’s the one on her phone, and she angrily clicks the lock button — well, as angrily as one can click an iPhone button. 

Sharon just makes a vague, angry growling sound at him, which makes him laugh. Jerk. Sam gives her a small wave and her scowl grows deeper. 

“How can I help you, Captain?” she bites, and if that’s not the most sarcasm she’s used in her entire life she doesn’t know what is.  

Sam barks out a laugh, making her wince, and says, “Remind me to never get drunk with you, ever.” 

She just glares at him.  

“Can we come in?” Steve asks, and she’s so tempted to say no. 

“If it gets you to stop talking, then sure.” She steps aside to let them in. She has no idea what she’s even wearing, and has to discreetly look down while they’re making their way into her living room, where she’d passed out the night before. 

Natasha had obviously helped her change into a t-shirt and pair of sleep shorts — she makes a mental note to call and thank her later. If she’d been wearing anything less, or, god forbid, her funeral dress, she would’ve been extremely embarrassed.  

She smooths her hair down as much as she can as she goes to the kitchen to make herself come coffee. “You guys want some?” she calls out to them, lifting the pot to indicate what she’s talking about. 

“I’m fine,” Steve says at the same time Sam says “sure”. She shrugs, filling up the pot with extra water, and reaches into a cabinet to get two cups.  

She pops a few Advil as she waits for the coffee to be done before filling the cups and bringing them into the living room, making a quick run back for milk and sugar. Sam gives her a warm smile and she tries not to scowl back. Sharon hates being woken up in the morning, by her alarm or anyone else that dares to do so. They’re lucky she let them in at all.  

“Okay, lay it on me, I don’t have all day,” she snaps, after swallowing a few large gulps of coffee. It burns her tongue and the roof of her mouth, but she can’t bring herself to care. At least it’s waking her up. 

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “What did Natasha _do_ to you?” She narrows her eyes. “Alright, alright.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “We’re doing a search of the cemetery today, and some other places we think Bucky might be. Thought you’d want to come along.” He raises his eyebrows. “Guess we thought wrong.”

Sharon closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and tilting her head back. “Okay,” she finally says (read: groans). “I’m in. Today was supposed to be my day off, but when it comes to SHIELD there’s no such thing, right?”  

“You know, you don’t have to —“ Sam starts, and she cuts him off. 

“No, I want to. I like being in the loop. I haven’t been in a long time, since SHIELD fell. I need to feel useful.” 

“Is the CIA not treating you well?” Steve asks, genuinely concerned, and she laughs. 

“If you consider endless paperwork being ‘treated well’, then sure. They _love_ me at the CIA. Give me five minutes to get ready. I probably look like a walking zombie.” Steve looks like he wants to say something, his mouth opening slightly, but then it closes again. Sharon takes another long swig of coffee and makes her way to her bedroom. 

 

* * *

 

She puts on a plain t-shirt and some yoga pants — she has no idea how intense their search is going to be, or if they’re going to run into any rogue agents that’ll decide to start shooting at them. She finishes up her coffee afterwards, Steve and Sam joking around while they wait for her. She sends Natasha a simple thank-you text, knowing that her friend doesn’t need any context to understand it. 

Nat texts back a wink emoji, the nerd. 

They head over to the cemetery in Sam’s car. She doesn’t know what information this search will yield, if any, but it’s the only lead they have. 

“So where are you staying?” she asks Steve to break the tension. “Since it’s not at the apartment complex. Which you completely ruined, by the way. I totally had to lie to the super about what happened.” She snorts, adding in a “if you don’t mind me asking” as an afterthought. 

“He’s staying at my place,” Sam answers for him, “just until we’re done looking for Barnes.” 

“I’m at the Avengers tower, otherwise,” Steve adds. “Tony paid for it but… it’s home. The new team is looking pretty good so far, despite the kinks.” 

“New team?” Sharon asks, leaning in between the two front seats, hating feeling so disconnected with everything that’s going on. She mostly gets all of her intel from Natasha, now. The CIA is weeks behind SHIELD, even with SHIELD being in the disheveled state it’s in. All of the information they have at work is weeks old by the time they get it. 

Nat had mentioned the new girl, Wanda, and had told her about working at the new base with Steve, but Sharon liked details, and she liked getting them from more than one source. That way she knew her intel was actually correct. 

“Sam,” Steve supplies her, “Rhodey, Vision.” He pauses, but Sharon just makes a sound of understanding. Natasha had told her all about Vision, who is neither JARVIS (whom she’s still mourning, okay, he was incredible) or Ultron — he’s something else entirely. Nat also told her about Banner, which was shocking but unsurprising. 

Sometimes it’s easier to latch on to someone and convince yourself that you could love them, instead of actually facing your fears. Nat still cares about him, obviously, but she’d told Sharon looking back on it that some of her feelings might’ve been misplaced. 

Still, they could’ve had a future together, done the right way — dates and getting to know each other and all that jazz — even if it would’ve been hard. If Banner hadn’t run off, that is.  

Steve continues. “The girl we picked up in Sokovia, Wanda. She’s still mourning her brother, but her powers are something else.” 

“Look at you, Rogers,” she teases him. “Being all dad-like.” Sam laughs a deep, soulful laugh that forces her to laugh, too, and causes Steve to blush slightly. “Kidding. But that’s really great. An all new generation of Avengers. Soon there’ll be too many of you to keep track.”

“You should come by, sometime.” Steve says, turning in his seat to look back at her. “I’m sure everyone would be happy to meet you. Nat’s training too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. The CIA loves to keep me busy, though, so I’m not sure if I’ll be available for any trips to New York soon. But maybe.” 

 

* * *

 

They wander around the cemetery for a good hour looking for clues. If she hadn’t thought of stopping by a few trees near the area she’d seen Barnes standing in during the funeral, she wouldn’t have caught it. Her memory of the exact tree was shaky, obviously, considering she hadn’t exactly been in a spy state of mind when she’d seen him, but it was close enough.

She’d decided to sit down for a minute because despite the coffee and pills she had taken earlier that morning she was still a bit hungover and needed a quick breather. Not everyone is Captain America. 

She notices it by accident: a scrap of paper easily confused as garbage at the base of the tree she’d decided to take cover under.It was late August, but the sun was still beating down hard, and Sharon was pale and started sweating easily.

Sharon picks it up out of curiosity more than anything, thinking that it could be a bit of an old letter or a guidebook. She blows the dirt off of it and examines the paper, which has a few numbers scratched on it that Sharon easily identifies as coordinates. Whether they’re relevant or not needs to be determined.  

She calls Sam and Steve over, showing them the slip of paper. Steve’s expression immediately changes. 

“Look familiar?” she asks him, eyes brightening. It’s been so long since she’s actually been in the field that she had almost started to miss it. 

“It’s Bucky’s handwriting.”

“You sure?” Sam asks, and Steve nods once, sharply. 

“He loops his twos. I always made fun of him for it at school, because it looked girly.” Steve laughs, but Sharon detects a hint of sadness. It must feel like a lifetime away for him. She can’t imagine how much it must hurt.  

“I mean, why else would it be here, right?” she asks, and Sam shrugs. “The paper seems clean, even though it was buried in dirt. Barnes was here, wasn’t he? I think we should go with it.” 

“I’ll look it up later. Do you need to be anywhere?” Both Sharon and Sam shake their heads. “Good. Because I’m starving.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who else saw the fucking civil war art???? i was literally screaming like i got out of the shower and my friend texted it to me and i had to drop everything because my hands were shaking. steve and sharon right next to each other made me so weak. i screamed about sharon on twitter and tumblr for fucking ever she's literally all i care about at this point she's my everything amen. tell me if this chapter wasn't complete garbage thanks 
> 
> also as a more serious note please tell me if you think i'm doing a good job with the grief and peggy's funeral. i don't want to make it seem like they don't care that peggy died, because they do. but it was a long time coming (peggy was in her 90's), and they're shield agents. they have a job to do and they learn to keep their grief hidden, you know? so just leave comments i love reading all of them


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is mostly filler, there's nothing i can really do about that. i thought about adding more, but i think it ended at the right spot, and trying to add more would make it weird to me, so sorry about the length. hopefully you guys like it, though.

Maybe I’ll crash into you  
Maybe we'll open these wounds  
We’re only alive if we bruise  
So I lay down this armor   
\- Landon Austin, Armor 

 

* * *

 

Sam drives them to a diner he frequently goes to, and Sharon can’t help but salivate a little when they walk inside. She loves the smell of a good burger. And it’s silly, but she has this thing about finding and consuming the perfect burger. The burger _king_ , if you will. She doesn’t know when it started, but she’s kept a careful catalog in her mind of all the incredible burgers she’s eaten so far, ones that stick out, and she’s always on the lookout for the next best one.

Chalk it up to a fairly decent memory and SHIELD never giving her enough free time to form an actual hobby. 

She’s practically vibrating when they walk inside and the smell hits her, frying machines and a grill and the heavenly smell of coffee. Angie used to love taking her to diners when she was younger, had even worked at one before it closed down, and before her acting career had really taken off. They had some incredible memories at diners just like this one. 

Sharon hadn’t realized how hungry she was, but now that her hangover is almost completely gone, she can’t think about anything else. 

Her smile is a mile wide when their waitress places the burger and strawberry shake in front of her. She’s sitting across from Sam and Steve, not completely comfortable enough to sit next to either, which they had seemed to pick up on.  

“You seem ridiculously happy to see that burger,” Sam says with a laugh, and she scrunches her nose at him, taking a huge bite.  

“Don’t be jealous, Sammy,” she forms the words around the mush of food in her mouth, “burgers own a special place in my heart.” 

“Oh, _Sammy_ , huh? That’s how it’s going to be?” 

“That’s _exactly_ how it’s going to be. If you have any problems you can take them up with the Captain,” she teases, grinning at Steve and taking a sip of her milkshake. 

Steve raises his hands in surrender. “I have no part in this,” he laughs, “I’m just trying to eat my lunch in peace.” 

Sharon glances at his three orders of fries, grilled chicken sandwich, burger, and two milkshakes. “That’s not a lunch, that’s literally enough food to feed a small army. Want to call Thor and ask him if he needs to throw a banquet anytime soon?” 

“Thor doesn’t give out his number, sadly. Maybe next time.”  

Sharon fake pouts, making him laugh. 

Steve is smiling while he eats, and it makes her heart swell. She’d been assigned to him since what had happened in New York and had seen how sad he’d been back then. Always eating alone, barely making conversation. He’d been so _alone_. And look at him now. His life was far from perfect, but he was getting there. He had friends now. People who would lay down their lives for him.  

That was worth something. 

 

* * *

 

Sam pulls up at her apartment building, glancing at Steve after he puts the car in park. Sam raises his eyebrows at him and Steve clears his throat. Sharon watches the silent conversation with the corner of her mouth turned up, somewhat amused but not really paying attention, still riding her food high. She just really frickin’ loves hamburgers, okay?  

“I’ll, uh, walk you up.” Steve settles on saying, and she raises an eyebrow in surprise. Thank Sam Wilson for small miracles. 

Steve follows her up the stairs and waits behind her while she unlocks the door. 

“So did you want to come in, or…?” Sharon lets her words trail off.  

“No, I just… wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to come today. And also, I, uh. I’m sorry I never took you up on coffee. I wanted to, I was just…” 

“Busy, I know.” Sharon smiles playfully. “And I told you, I wanted to come. I know it didn’t seem like it, but I’m just a cranky morning person. It was nice to feel useful,” she tells him sincerely. “A welcome distraction.”  

His smile falters a little, and she knows that he had understood what she meant. They had literally buried Peggy the day before, that fact wasn’t lost on either one of them. Sharon hesitates for a second, and then decides to just go for it.  

She stretches her arms out, having to slightly raise herself up on her toes to reach his shoulders, and wraps them around his neck, pulling him into a tentative hug. He’s still for a second, but eventually he relaxes, and _god_ , it just feels so… so _right_. His arms gently slide across her waist and around her back, his right hand settling against the base of her spine, and she wishes she could stay like this forever.   

She can feel his heartbeat and his breath against her shoulder, soft and steady, and forces herself to pull away. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” she tells him, and he shakes his head, taking a step backwards through the door, arm lifting in a small wave. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She smiles softly to herself, biting her lip as she closes the door. 

“That was cozy.” Sharon starts when she turns around, having made up her mind to head to the bedroom to put on some pajamas, fully ready to cash in on the little time she had left of her day off. 

She should’ve known. The door hadn’t been completely pushed closed when she had gone to open it — it jammed a little and required a hard shove to get it completely closed, or else there would be a tiny crack between the doorframe and door otherwise.  

“Natasha. To what do I owe this pleasure?”  

“Fury wants to see you, but we can multitask. What was _that_ all about?”   

“It was a hug between friends. Are you jealous?” Natasha laughs, spreading her arms wide as if expecting an equally large hug. 

“Of course I am. You know I don’t like you hugging strange men behind my back. Come give Natasha a hug.” She says the last sentence with a thick, fake Russian accent, and it makes Sharon roll her eyes, but she’s unable to help the chuckle that escapes her at Natasha’s antics. She flops stomach-side down on her couch beside the other woman and kicks her feet up. 

“So what does Fury want?” 

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. A meeting, first.” Her eyes flick around Sharon’s apartment, ever the spy. Sharon nods her head. Of course, nothing is safe. Not even her apartment, which she checked frequently for bugs. She didn’t begrudge Natasha her right to be cautious, though, although she’s curious about what Fury could possibly want, now that he’s back from the dead and technically no longer the director of SHIELD. 

Sharon quirks an eyebrow at her, asking the question without really asking, in the same vein that Nat had answered her. Being vague seemed like a trait that spies learned without ever being taught. 

Natasha slips a piece of paper out of her pocket and hands it to her. Tonight, eight PM, in front of Peggy’s old nursing home. She resists the urge to groan. Like she’d said earlier — no such thing as a day off with SHIELD, even when it _is_ half of what it used to be. The location is sort of perfect, though, she has to admit. It’s a decently populated spot, not too crowded or too empty. No one would suspect clandestine meetings to occur on the steps of an old nursing home. 

Truthfully, they could be caught anywhere, if Hydra was looking hard enough. But as far as secret meeting places went, the nursing home was just fine. Peggy Carter was still a respected name, of course, but she hadn’t been a threat in her condition. No one actively looked for her anymore, and Sharon had personally made sure that only a selective few people knew her own connection to Peggy. 

She sighs, rolling over on her side to glance at the clock in the kitchen. It’s almost four now, they have some time. 

“Want to watch a rom-com?” she asks, and Natasha’s quiet for a second before smiling widely.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

 

* * *

 

Fury’s waiting for Sharon on the steps when she gets there. It’s late enough for there to be not a lot of people around, but still light enough outside that their meeting doesn’t look _too_ suspicious and/or like a drug deal. 

“Director,” she greets him, mostly out of respect than circumstance. He had been the one to grant her a position at SHIELD, after all.

She’d let Natasha stay at her place, mostly because the woman had insisted that Sharon needed to do this on her own, and also because Nat hadn’t taken a break in a long time. She deserved one, after everything. 

“Not the director anymore,” he simply responds, and she nods, taking a seat next to him. “Just an old man with some advice he’d like to give.” 

“And yet here we are.” Here _he_ is, obviously about to give her orders, no matter what he wants to call it. She cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“It would be smart for you to listen, if you want to help SHIELD,” he says, matter of fact, as if SHIELD were still the functioning organization that it once was. 

“Is there even a SHIELD left to help?” 

“Coulson’s rebuilding. It’s slow, but he’s getting there.” Sharon feels a flash of anger at the name. Couldn’t _anyone_ just fucking _stay_ dead? How is it fair that both Fury and Coulson get to spring back up like they’re characters owned by AMC, and yet everyone that she loves has to stay buried six feet under? 

Why can’t Trip come back? Why can’t Aunt Peggy? Who gets to decide? She looks up at the sky, a few flickering stars starting to appear, the same sky Peggy had probably looked out at from her room whenever she got the chance.  

The thought is comforting and devastating all at once. 

She takes a deep breath. “So, what’s the mission?” The mission, like always. Nothing else matters. 

“The CIA is going to want you to find Barnes eventually. You should tell them no, and that you know nothing about him except for what leaked in those files.” 

So he does know about what Steve’s been doing, and he knows that she’s been involved. For an “old man”, his game is still pretty good. “Is that all they know about him?” she asks, genuinely curious. They’ve been keeping her in the dark at work about their intel — although it’s not like it’s hard for her to get to anyway. Professional spy speaking, hello. She likes being clued in on things.  

“Let’s hope so. But if they know more, or they try to go after him themselves — god forbid —you can make sure no one gets hurt. The less they know, the better.”  

She’s quiet for a second. “Are you going to let Steve keep looking for him?”

Fury closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his brow. “You and I both know there’s no _letting_ Rogers do anything. If he thinks it’s right, he’s going to do it no matter what the consequences are.” He’s right, of course. Steve has done it before.  

Sharon thinks of the plane crash, how hard it must’ve been for him to leave behind everything he knew. She’d tried to ask Aunt Peggy about it when she was younger, but that was the one story her aunt could never speak about. Sharon had googled it, eventually, even snooped through some of Peggy’s old newspaper articles. It had made her feel awful, afterwards, and she understood why Peggy never wanted to talk about it. She made sure to never mention it again after she found out. 

Her former director looks at her, then. “It’s good that he has you, Carter. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Wilson, too. Keep him straight, alright? Make sure he doesn’t push himself too far on this.” 

“I will,” Sharon says, completely meaning it. She doesn’t want Steve to get hurt, much less those idiots at the CIA who think they know more than they do. Their ignorance will surely be their downfall eventually, especially if they keep trying to mess with secrets they aren’t equipped to handle. But this is her job. She protects people, even though those people might be extremely foolish at times. 

She watches as Fury gets up and disappears around the corner, his sinister cape billowing behind him. Sharon had always thought it was a bit nerdy looking, to be honest. 

But then again, she’s the one with a big fat crush on Captain America, so she really isn’t one to judge. 

She lets herself think it, just for a second. That she has a crush on him. Stupid, impulsive, _impossible_ Steve Rogers. When people think of Captain America, they always think of “honor” and “doing what’s right”, and a conservative, rule following soldier. That’s what she used to think, when Peggy talked about him. But he was so completely different than that. He _was_ impulsive, and _snarky_ , and even rude at times. He could be angry and disappointed and devastated. And that just make her like him all the more. 

He was Captain America, sure, but he was also the man who held her when she cried at her aunt’s funeral, and he was the man that cut her off at work, and he was the man that showed up at her door when she was in her pajamas. There was _so much_ to him and she never wanted to stop learning about him. She never wanted to stop being surprised by him.  

But the mission came first — _saving people_ came first. So Sharon carefully bottled up all of those feelings inside of her and deposited them, deep down somewhere inside of her where they couldn’t hurt or make her forget the mission. 

And she got up and made her way back to her apartment.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it means so much to me that even one person has commented on this story, much less the number of people that actually have. it constantly surprises me that anyone likes my writing at all, and it makes me so so so happy that people are actually enjoying this. i need the sharon carter love to spread to every single person on the internet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me if anyone is still reading this or if it's even remotely readable at this point. this chapter is longer than the last one, at least. i'm trying.

And I know,  
I've said this all before,  
But opposites attract.  
We try and run away,  
But end up running back.  
\- You Me At Six, Crash

 

* * *

 

The cold water of her shower helps to wake Sharon up completely the morning after her meeting with Fury. She always needs a jolt of something extra in the morning, whether it be coffee or a cold shower (or even falling out of her bed that one time). She can never really wake up easily on her own because, frankly, mornings suck. And she hates them. 

SHEILD Academy had been a nightmare, to say the least. Maybe Science and Tech didn’t have problems with getting up at seven AM each day, but then again, they never really went to sleep anyway, did they? She’d had friends that would stay up for _days_ finishing projects, the lovable nerds. She needed to remind them to _eat_ , sometimes, when they got into those states.  

Operations, however, was completely different. After waking up at the crack of dawn to run laps before firearms training and the rest of her classes, Sharon gladly took all of the rest she was offered, cherishing those extra five minutes on those rare mornings when she’d woken up before her alarm. God bless her poor roommate, who was constantly getting elbows or knees in the face simply because she was the unfortunate soul charged with getting Sharon’s ass out of bed. 

Sharon sighs as she lazily shampoos her hair, ruminating on what her former director had told her last night. It made complete sense that Coulson was rebuilding SHIELD, now that she thought about it. The last time she’d spoken to Trip he had sounded extremely enthusiastic, if not a little wary, telling her about some secret mission he was about to go on. Of course he had wanted to bring SHIELD back to its former glory, and had died trying, the stupid optimist. 

She wasn’t angry, really, because if she had known she would have probably gone with him and gotten herself killed, too. She just wishes she could’ve been there, could’ve done something to save him. It had been awful visiting his mother afterwards, having to watch her deal with the grief. Despite doing it so often, it was still something that Sharon wasn’t quite used to. She supposes she’ll never really get used to losing people, no matter how often it seems to happen to her. 

 

* * *

Work is quiet, but she’s not surprised. Like always, the CIA is days behind on news, so Fury’s “advice” probably won’t become necessary for another week or so. But god, she wishes it would just _happen_ , already, because she’s getting sick and tired of doing paperwork. 

It’s not that she didn’t have plenty of paperwork to do at SHIELD, because she did. The one thing people never tell you about being a spy is that there’s so much _paperwork_. Briefs and summaries and operations reports, etc. etc. But at least at SHIELD it was interspersed with plenty of missions and she’d had a high level of clearance. Here, Sharon was basically an intern, for all the information the CIA trusted her with. 

She got stared at in hallways, as if people couldn’t believe that SHEILD was a real thing, even though the CIA had known of its existence for some time. People stared at her for other reasons, too, and Sharon knew that today it was because of Peggy. 

The funeral had been on a Monday, and it was a Wednesday now. It was awful to think about, because if it had been any other week Sharon would at least have her time with Peggy to look forward to after work, but now Peggy was gone. 

She doesn’t know how any of the other agents found out, because she’d asked the higher ups to keep it quiet, like she’d taken a sick day or something. But when Andrew — ugh, Andrew. An unfortunate one night stand that had a serious problem letting go — came up to her desk that morning and asked her if she was really related to _the_ Peggy Carter, she had almost screamed in frustration. Leave it to old white guys to be completely incapable of keeping a secret. 

Sharon had shrugged, trying not to engage the guy any more than necessary. It was sad, really, how clueless he was, because he was so obviously her type. Or, at least, the type of guy she used to go for. All dressed up in a suit with his hair slicked back, cocky in a _just_ bearable way, she’d used him because she was bored, and angry, and frustrated about her new assignment. Steve. 

Biting her lip now, she wonders if Steve had heard them having sex next door. It’s a horrible, selfish thought, but she can’t help it. She shakes her head, though, trying to not think about Steve and sex at the same time, and mindlessly shreds some paper, ignoring Andrew’s insistent glances in her direction. (She hadn’t even bothered to learn his last name, _god_.)  

Only ten minutes till her lunch break; she can get through it. 

 

* * *

 

Tony calls her when she’s almost done with her food, a boring sandwich and chips that she had packed because she was all out of decent food, like Chinese leftovers and mac and cheese. She had a horrible diet for an agent, but she liked to think her workouts evened it out.

He doesn’t even bother saying hi first, the dick.  

“So, a little birdy told me that you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with a certain Captain Ninety-Year-Old Virgin lately,” he sing-songs, and if she were face to face with him she’d probably slap the smirk off his face. Which she knew he definitely had plastered across his smug features at the moment.  

Instead, she lets out a groan. “And by little birdy, do you mean Sam Wilson?” she asks, because she knows his jokes like the back of her hand — he’s so predictable, honestly.  

“Clint, actually.”  

“Ha. Funny.”

“Always.” 

“And what did Mr. Barton have to say?” she asks him, curious as to what Clint could possibly know, and who had even bothered to tell him, considering that nothing was really going on between her and Steve, anyway. (The thought doesn’t make her frown, either, by the way. She’s totally fine with there being nothing going on. Honest.) 

“It’s more like I heard him on the phone with Natasha,” Tony corrects, and Sharon rolls her eyes. Typical. Leave it to Tony to fudge the truth for the sake of a quick joke. “Idiot had his phone on speaker in the training room.”

“The little gossip,” Sharon fake-gasps, not really caring what Natasha had to say. She was used to her friend playing matchmaker by this point, there was nothing she could really do about it. “What did she say?”

“Just that you two are having a passionate love-affair and that you’re carrying his child.” Sharon says nothing. “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You know, I never ask you about _your_ love life,” she deadpans, and he snorts on the other end. 

“That’s because Pepper would probably never have sex with me again if I ever said a single word about it,” he retorts, and then gasps, completely serious. “Or she’d cut my dick off. I couldn’t live, Share-Bear, it’s my greatest possession.”  

“Your prized possession has caused you a _lot_ of trouble, then. I specifically remember a little incident two years ago, that ring a bell? Ruined my Christmas, it did.” 

“I’ve saved the world,” he exclaims, indignant. “Multiple times.”

“You just won’t let that go, will you?”  

He’s quiet for a few seconds, and she knows he’s going to say something serious. He always needs a second to remove his asshole filter before he becomes a real human being, but she loves that about him. He has depth. Underneath his playboy exterior, he’s the same guy that braided her hair when she was upset, and the one that taught her about the glory of adding milk to her craft mac and cheese. He was her family — basically the only family she had left.  

While she’d been on Steve’s detail she wasn’t allowed to contact him, because he could’ve let it slip that he knew her. It had killed her to do it, but that was the job. Sharon’s done a lot of things that she thought she’d never do.  

“How are you holding up?” he asks, and she lets out a breath, blowing some of her hair out of her face. 

“I don’t know,” she tells him truthfully. “I keep thinking that everything’s fine, that I can go see her. I would’ve gone to visit her today, like I do every week. I have to keep reminding myself that if I did go, she wouldn’t be there.”  

“And the CIA’s still treating you like crap?”

“I mean, yeah, not that I care anymore.” She doesn’t tell him what Fury said, doesn’t think she can, really. “As long as I get my paycheck I guess I’ll keep working through it.”

“You could always come work for me,” he tells her, and she barks out a laugh. “Come on, even Hill came over. You could be an Avenger, I’d convince everyone to let you. I bet they wouldn’t even need convincing. You’re great.”  

“I don’t think I’m Avengers material,” she tells him, “not quite yet.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to see you,” he tells her, and she knows that’s Tony’s way of saying “I miss you”. 

“I miss you too,” she says in response. “One of these days I’ll head up to New York, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Sharon.”

“Goodbye, Tony.” She hangs up the phone. Only five more hours of work to go. She drops her head into her arms on the desk, groaning. 

 

* * *

 

Steve calls on Saturday to tell her that the coordinates they had found are a dead end. She stops fumbling with her laptop when he says it, in the middle of ordering food online because she’s too lazy to pick up her phone and call. Lucky for her, or else she would’ve missed him. (She had set his ringtone to play “The Star Spangled Banner” on a whim one day and had completely forgotten about it, so it had taken her a few seconds to stop laughing before she answered him.)

The call crackles, maybe he’s going through a tunnel or something. She doesn't think he's driving, though. He's too cautious for that. She wonders if anyone's with him. 

“I just thought… we were getting somewhere, that’s all.” Sharon wishes he didn’t sound so heartbroken. 

“Don’t give up,” she tells him, not sure if the words are sufficient but feeling like she needs to say them anyway. “We’ll check other Hydra bases in the area, I’ll try to find as much information as possible. Maybe they were just… out of the house?” 

He laughs, a soft sound that’s different on the phone than it is in person. Still nice, though. “Out of the house, right. Maybe they were grocery shopping.” She finishes typing up her order, lips quirking as she cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder.  

“Obviously. Assassins need to eat too, you know.” 

“Of course. I’m sure that’s their top priority. After murdering thousands of innocents, that is.” 

“Right…” she trails off, not sure if she should laugh or not. She gives him a nervous chuckle instead. 

“Dear god, I’m sorry. That was completely not funny.” _That_ , she laughs at, and can almost hear him relax on the other side of the phone call, his breath soft and steady in her ear. 

“It’s okay, you tried. I mean, you failed, but you tried. We’ll work on it.”  

“That we will.” He pauses, takes another breath. “Sharon?” he asks, hesitant in a way that she’s only heard a handful of times from him. It reminds her of the night he asked her out for coffee, which feels like a lifetime ago, now. “Would you, ah, want to go running with Sam and I tomorrow morning?” Oh, god, grammatically correct, what a nerd. She tries to shove aside the way her heart speeds up at the invitation. 

“By ‘morning’, you mean…?”

“Well, it’s six AM, normally, but I’m sure we can make an exception,” he taunts, and Sharon’s eyes narrow slightly. She’s never one to back down from a challenge. 

“Don’t you worry about, that, Rogers, I’ll be there, six AM sharp.” She pauses. “Where is ‘there’, exactly?” 

“Washington Monument,” he tells her.  

“Oh,” she grins, “fancy. Normally I just go to the gym, but whatever floats your boat, you show-off.” She hears a laugh in the background, and realizes that Sam’s probably with him. She blushes, not sure why. She hasn’t said anything particularly damning. Although she feels the need to be more cautious, now that she knows someone else is listening in.  

“I’ll see you there,” he tells her, and they say their goodbyes and hang up. A couple of minutes later her food shows up, so all in all, it’s a good night. 

 

* * *

 

Waking up early is so fucking annoying, Sharon literally has no idea who would voluntarily do it, at all, ever in a million years. Besides Steve Rogers, that is. She has no idea how he functions, honestly, with the amount of food he eats and the waking up early and the almost never sleeping that allows him to go on missions at all hours of the day. It’s probably part of the serum, because she has no idea why anyone would want to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to go running. 

(She’ll ask Sam what his reasoning is later, when her brain's at full functioning capacity, and when she's had at least one cup of coffee.) 

But she feels like she has something to prove, now, because she told him she’d be there and she’s always been a little competitive. Like that time she had bet Trip that she could eat more wings than him during lunch at the academy. Honestly, who was she even kidding? She’d ended up at the infirmary after twenty and spent the rest of the day hacking up orange tinged sauce, much to the disgust of the other students there.  

Sharon laces up her sneakers and decides to walk over to the monument in order to warm up, and meets the men there at exactly six (having to speed up a little towards the end), like she said she would.

Sam’s bent over lacing his sneakers, and Steve smiles when he sees her. She waves and jogs over, slightly chilly but awake thanks to the morning air. Sam gets up from fixing his laces and gives her a smile, too, and she tries to return it. She doesn’t want to let her morning grumpiness interfere with this new friendship she’s achieved with both of them. 

“Just warning you,” Sam starts, “this guy is such an asshole about running. He does, like, thirteen miles within an hour, it’s completely ridiculous and unfair.” He pouts a little bit, and Sharon cracks a real smile for the first time that morning, raising an eyebrow at Steve. 

“Thirteen miles, huh,” she purses her lips, knowing full well that she definitely can’t beat that. She can’t even remember the last time that she’s run more than five miles total, and even that had been a fluke, a day that she had really needed to release some pent up energy. 

“When we met, he kept lapping me and yelling ‘on your left’. I think that was his 1940’s attempt at humor.” Steve looks slightly embarrassed, but he just shakes his head and chuckles softly. It’s cute.

“I think I’ll just pace myself with Sam,” she tells them. “I don’t need to lose a lung.” They both laugh, and then Steve shrugs and is off, leaving her and Sam in the dust. 

They share a look and start stretching, something Steve hadn’t bothered to do because apparently he can set off on a marathon whenever he feels like it, rolling their eyes because he _is_ ridiculous. And adorable. But Sharon keeps that thought to herself. 

 

* * *

 

Overall, she and Sam manage a decent pace, running a good four miles while Steve does god knows how many. She falls behind a couple of times, but Sam says nothing, which is extremely nice of him. Sharon’s used to running in the gym, and only for a few days a week. It’s obvious that Sam and Steve do this every day, but she figures she can start coming every day, too. 

She’ll get better; make up for all the lost field time the CIA has been keeping from her.  

Getting back into it is hard, though, and when Sharon finally slows down she’s panting, and has to rest her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She scowls as Steve gloats next to her, having barely broken a sweat the entire time.

What she mostly wants now that the run is over is a giant cheeseburger, even if it is only eight in the morning. Some coffee and a good breakfast sandwich will have to do instead, because she knows full well that these two aren’t going to let her indulge in her fast food fantasies. She hasn’t had McDonalds in forever, though, and she’s really craving a sausage McMuffin. She floats the idea by them anyway, and Steve looks scandalized, which makes her scrunch her face at him. 

“You have horrible eating habits for a SHIELD agent,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I just ran four miles!”

“Which is not an excuse to eat three pounds of deep-fried garbage.”

“What do you eat for breakfast, then?” She turns to Sam, raising her eyebrows. 

“Smoothies, usually. Green ones,” he supplies. Sharon wrinkles her nose in disgust.  

“They’re not that bad,” Steve protests, and she shakes her head. 

“You literally burn calories at the speed of light. Why do you even need to worry about eating healthy?” 

“She has a point, man,” Sam says, and she gives him a thankful, cheeky grin. Steve stands his ground, though, and eventually Sharon agrees to come over to Sam’s so that he can make them all smoothies. 

 

* * *

 

The drinks aren’t bad, really, but they could do without the spinach. It keeps getting stuck in her teeth unpleasantly, and the last thing she needs to be worrying about is whether or not her teeth are clean this early in the morning (aside from brushing, obviously), before she’s even had a single cup of coffee. Shit like that doesn’t belong in a smoothie, much like fruits don’t belong in savory salads. Like raisins, or strawberries. People are disgusting with their weird gourmet food. 

“Any plans today?” Steve asks her while they’re drinking, and she shrugs nonchalantly.  

“Not really. Thought I’d watch some Netflix or something, maybe see if Nat’s busy.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Netflix. That’s the one that lets you watch all the movies? On the internet?” he asks, and it’s so unbelievably cute she doesn’t know how she hasn’t melted into a puddle on the floor yet.  

“Yes, grandpa,” she answers, and Sam guffaws, almost spitting up his drink. She turns to him. “Why are you laughing, Wilson? What kind of friend are you, not letting him experience the glory that is Netflix? Please tell me you’ve at least forced him to watch some of the greatest movies of our time.” 

Sam gives her a questioning look, leaning forward on his elbows against the counter they’re all sitting around. “And those movies would be?”

“Movies that everyone should see at least once, if not multiple times in their life. Legally Blonde, 27 Dresses, Ocean’s 11, the Bond movies. Come on, Sam, he has so much ground to cover!”  

“Legally Blonde, really?” 

“Legally Blonde is a cinematic masterpiece. That’s it.” She grabs Steve’s hand, ignoring the way it makes her shiver a little bit, and points at Sam. “Where’s your TV?” she commands, grinning conspiratorially at the way his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She’s just really serious about her movies, okay? “We have some educating to do.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do my endings suck? i always have a problem ending chapters. i feel like my endings are boring, idk. let me know


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest chapter i've written, by far. i hope everyone likes it. i'm sort of really proud of it. also, i took some lines from the ant-man post credit scene and from the civil war footage description. i obviously don't own those, i'm just trying to make my story fit in to the marvel universe.

But I want it, it's a crime  
That she's not around most of the time  
\- Hozier, Cherry Wine

 

* * *

 

“Carter!” Sharon jumps slightly at her desk, her supervisor’s voice breaking her out of her thoughts. She’d been leaning on her hand absently, recalling Steve’s face during the famous Bennie and the Jets scene in 27 Dresses. It was one of her favorites, and the way he’d smiled softly had made her go all mushy inside, in a way that she never had before. 

“Yes?” she asks, wondering if the CIA had _finally_ found out that Bucky was on the loose, and debating which line she’d use when they asked her what she knew about him. She had it narrowed down to two: “Are you insinuating I know something I shouldn’t?” (this one should be used with a nice quirk of her eyebrow or a knowing smirk, or both) or “I haven’t heard anything new since those files were leaked.” She was partial to the first, but had a feeling that it might get her fired. 

They didn’t really appreciate sass here at the CIA like SHIELD used to. (But then again, they also didn’t have to deal with Tony Stark on a daily basis. Compared to him, any bit of snark was simply a minor annoyance. The CIA’s asshole threshold is pretty low, is what she’s basically saying.) 

She can’t help protect people if she _does_ get fired, no matter how angry certain coworkers made her, so she decides that it’s probably best to play it safe. And it’s really not the CIA’s fault that they have no idea what they’re dealing with most of the time. Hell, even SHIELD was thrown for a loop when Thor came along. Still, it was what they were created to handle.  

“My office,” Stan commands, walking by her tiny cubicle with his usual arrogance. Sharon rolls her eyes and gets up to follow him. 

Stan, her supervisor, has this idea in his head that he’s the greatest agent since sliced bread, and for some reason doesn’t realize that every single other person in the agency laughs at him behind his back. Because he, in fact, is a _horrible_ agent, and she has no idea how he’d gotten his position as a supervisor at all. He doesn’t even really _do_ anything, except for boss people around and eat a copious amount of baked goods.  

And, besides. Sharon’s met the greatest agent ever, and her name was Peggy Carter. 

As she watches him waddle into his office on his short, stout legs, taking bites out of his strawberry donut, she wonders if he’s ever been on a single operation that didn’t involve taking the elevator down to the second floor cafeteria. 

He gestures for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk, and she does, avoiding the old (she hopes it’s coffee) stain someone had left towards the back end of it, which forces her to sit on the edge. It makes her seem like she’s excited for her first “big mission” when in reality she’s anything but. 

“Got a case for you, Carter,” he boasts, “it’s a big’un.”  

“I thought I wasn’t ranked high enough for cases yet, sir,” she tries not to sound too condescending, but she can’t help it. They’ve been treating her like dirt the entire time she’s been working here, and now all of a sudden they deem her worthy of a case because they think she has inside information? That’s _the_ definition of “using someone”. Not for the first time she wonders why the CIA had wanted her at all. 

She knew why SHIELD had wanted her there, obviously. To gain information, make sure people weren’t making idiots of themselves and trying to stick their noses where they didn’t belong, like Jane Foster’s research or something equally as important. But why had the CIA offered her a job in the first place? She’d probably never know.  

Stan waves a hand at the suggestion, as if rank wasn’t an important factor of being a government agent, even though he frequently loved to hold his high status over everyone’s head. He rummages through the files and papers on his cluttered desk, pulling one out and handing it to her. 

Sharon doesn’t even have to open the file to know what it is. But she does in order to keep up appearances, and isn’t surprised to see Bucky’s picture on the first page. It’s a picture she’s seen before, at the exhibit — it’s obvious that they weren’t able to get an updated one. She doesn’t blame them for that one, actually. Like Steve said, he was a ghost.  

“What d’ya know about this so-called ‘Winter Soldier’?” Despite everything, Sharon still flinches slightly at the name. After she had found out that Winter Soldier was Steve’s best friend, she had done her very best to compartmentalize the two different versions of him in her head. 

The Winter Soldier was the man who had killed Tony’s parents and had caused destruction in so many other ways. He was the one that almost killed Fury. James Barnes, on the other hand, was a victim of Hydra, like so many of them were including herself, even though her scar was outwardly healed now. She had to remind herself over and over that he’d been brainwashed — he didn’t know what he was doing.  

_The Winter Soldier_ killed people. _James_ had saved Steve’s life. He’d come to Peggy’s funeral. He had probably been recaptured by Hydra at this point. She couldn’t stay angry at him. 

“Besides the fact that he’s Captain America’s dead friend come to life, nothing except what’s in the file. SHIELD isn’t really around to consult anymore,” she lies easily, settling on a snarky yet appropriate response. 

“Uh uh,” Stan huffs, narrowing his eyes at her. He doesn’t seem to quite believe the lie, but he doesn’t have any proof against her, either. “We need you to find him.” He makes it sound so casual, even though it’s anything but. It’s been two _years_ and Steve hasn’t had any luck, what makes Stan so sure that she could do what a seasoned Avenger couldn’t?   

She doesn’t say any of that, however. No one here knows that she’s had any contact with SHIELD, including Captain America. She’s sure Andrew would have a fit if he ever found out. 

“I don’t think I can do that, sir,” this she says as respectfully as possible. “He’s almost impossible to find. What makes you think I have the capacity to do this, alone?” 

“You know how Hydra works. You’ve been around them before.”  

She fidgets in her seat. “I know that Hydra is sneaky, and manipulative, and that they’ll kill to get what they want. But just because I’ve been in their vicinity doesn’t mean that I know how they _operate_. They’re not good people, but I have no idea what they’re planning, or how they plan it.” 

“Are you actually declining your _first_ mission, agent Carter?”   

“Not declining. More like politely letting you know that no matter who you assign this mission to, it’ll be impossible. If Hydra doesn’t want the Winter Soldier to be found, he won’t be, just like he hasn’t been for however many decades now. It’s that simple.”  

Stan looks like he’s swallowed something sour. “Get back to work, agent,” he snaps, getting up to grab his coffee cup, probably intent on making another stop at the cafeteria. She takes the folder off of her lap and places the it back on his desk, walking out of the room before him.  

She hopes she’s dissuaded him enough to delay the CIA for at least a good week, so that she can help Steve finally finish his search. On another note, Stan had been so preoccupied with her rejection that he hadn’t noticed her slip a page of the file into her blazer. Idiot. She smirks when she gets back to her desk and sends Steve a text. (Which she’s still trying to teach him to do. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of emojis yet.) They have an op to plan.

* * *

Sam and Steve meet her at her apartment on Friday night, because she’s constantly exhausted after work and it’s the only night she has free. Their morning runs aren’t really a great time to plan reconnaissance, either, so weekends have to do for now. Until SHIELD is totally back, and, you know, she can quit her job. 

The men don’t seem to be tired of her yet, even though she’d been running with them the entire week. Sharon takes it as a good sign. It’s been a long time since she’s had close friends besides Natasha.  

Sharon had laid out a few snacks for them on her kitchen island along with what she’d found in Bucky’s CIA file, because they seemed to be perpetually hungry, especially Steve. It killed her that he looked the way he did, even with his non-stop eating. She was completely jealous, and kind of wanted to see what he looked like shirtless, not that she’d ever say that out loud.  

Sam had brought over a couple of disguised comms units for them to use the next time they went to case the abandoned building, which they had decided would be tomorrow. Steve had filled her in on the details of their previous failed inspection of the warehouse Bucky’s coordinates had led them to. They had no time to waste now, and Sharon was sure that Bucky’s clue couldn’t have been an accident. They’d search every building in the neighborhood if they had to. 

The page of the file she’s stolen is nothing, really, just a list of known Hydra bases. But it’s more than anything else they can get without access to SHIELD, especially because of what Ultron had done to the files recently. A few other buildings in the area are close to the one that Steve and Sam had looked at before, so they were worth a shot. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, but it’s not an awkward one. Sharon’s leaning slightly against the kitchen counter, a cup of tea in her hands. Sam’s across from her and Steve is on her right, absently eating some of the chips that she’d put out.

“Got any tea left?” he asks, and she nods. 

“Right back there.” She points behind herself, hoping he gets the general idea of the location. 

He straightens up and starts to make his way over, having to walk behind her to get to it. Sharon’s apartment is cramped, so there isn’t much space for his large frame. One of his handsabsently brushes the small of her back as he’s walking towards the pot. He probably has no idea that he’d even done it, but her eyes flutter shut, involuntarily, for a few seconds. She takes a deep breath and lets herself savor that insignificant touch, just for those few seconds, because it’ll probably be the closest that she ever gets to touching him the way she wants to.  

Sam gives her a weird look and she ignores it, focusing instead on gulping down half of her tea in one go. It burns her tongue slightly, but the pain helps her to regain some focus.

“So are we using codenames, or what?” she asks them when Steve is back at the island with his own cup of tea. The minnie mouse cup looks awkward but adorable in his large hands, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely.  

Sam chuckles, glancing at Steve, who’s blowing on his tea. “You know I’m always down. I’m still new to the whole Avenger thing. Being called the Falcon is still pretty cool.” Sharon smiles at his response.  

“Everyone already knows I’m Captain America,” Steve says with a small smile and a shrug, “there’s no real reason for me to try to keep my identity a secret anymore. But I personally don’t care either way.” 

“Great!” Sharon beams, a little too excited at the prospect of code names. But whatever, she’s going on a mission with Captain America. It’s like a childhood dream come true. “My old team used to just call me ‘thirteen’, you know. Agent Thirteen, SHIELD Special Service.” She gives Steve a secret smile that he returns, and it makes her heart flutter. 

 

* * *

Sharon lets the two of them stay over that night, because there would be no point for both of them to go back to Sam’s when they’re leaving so early in the morning. The drive to Manhattan is almost four hours long, so they have to leave early, which she grudgingly accepts. It’s safe to say that more than one pit stop for coffee will be made. 

Sam’s going to drive, mostly because Steve’s motorcycle is still totaled from Sokovia and Sharon’s isn’t roomy enough to fit all three of them and (hopefully) Bucky, if they find him. Or anyone else that they might pick up along the way. (Natasha has a way of showing up places unexpectedly, not that she’s unwelcome.)

An annoyed groan slips out of Sharon’s mouth when her shrill alarm rings in the morning, despite having told herselfthe night before that she would try to keep it together. 

She rolls over in bed and fumbles with her phone’s password, finally turning off the horrible sound, and wanders into the kitchen to start her coffee for her first, but definitely not last, cup of the day.  

To her surprise, Steve is already up and she can smell some of the blessed liquid, of which he’s already drinking a cup, sitting on her sofa. He turns and gives her a small nod, gesturing towards the extra cup in front of him that takes her a second to notice. 

“Took me a while to figure out your machine, but I made you a cup. Hope it tastes okay.”  

She makes her way over to him and picks up the cup from the coffee table, taking a generous sip. She can’t help but let out an appreciative moan at the taste, the hot liquid instantly waking her up. Steve’s expression is unreadable as he looks at her. 

“Is Sam still sleeping?” she asks him, trying not to focus on what he’s thinking. She’d let them both stay in her tiny guest room last night, which she felt completely guilty about, but they hadn't seemed to mind.  

Steve nods. “He’s a heavy sleeper. He set an alarm, though, should be up soon.” Sharon hums in understanding, taking another huge gulp of coffee. He’s made it just the way she likes it, with copious amounts of cream and sugar, and wants to ask him how he knew but can’t find the right words to do so.  

They sit in a companionable silence for a while, both sipping their coffee, and Sharon’s eyes wander to the small mirror she has on the wall. It’s a wonder he hasn’t said anything, really, because she always looks like a drowned rat in the morning. She basically isn’t even a real person before eight AM, it’s ridiculous. She has to excuse herself to get ready.

* * *

 

They set off at almost exactly eight, gathering all of their comms units and dressing in clothing as inconspicuous as possible. Like always, they have no idea what they’re going to be dealing with, so it’s best to blend in. Sharon tucks her gun into her hostler, anyway, just to be safe. 

All three of them sit in silence, mostly, until a song or two comes on that both her and Sam really love, and they both tease Steve about not knowing it. She and Sam launch into a pretty great rendition of “Somebody to Love” by Queen about halfway through the ride, and Steve laughs at them good-naturedly, writing it down on his list.  

It’s so incredibly cute that he still does that. She remembers when he first moved in to her building, after the alien attack. He’d been so hopelessly lost, knocking on her door, blushing and asking her if she could please help him set up his Wi-Fi. Which he had pronounced wrong, god bless him.  

It was nice, though, getting to know him in that way. He was incredibly smart. It wasn’t his fault that he’d lost most of his life sitting in the ice. The world had changed, and he was adapting pretty well, considering the circumstances. 

They stop an hour away from the city to get food, because even superheroes and spies need to eat. And also because Sharon’s stomach starts grumbling and Steve insists that they stop, because that’s just who he is. 

Sharon goes for a burger, of course — it’s not great, but it’s not the worst she’s ever had. Steve and Sam eat more food than she thinks is humanly safe, and that’s saying something considering she had once consumed an entire pizza by herself after a particularly bad breakup. 

 

* * *

 

They make it to Manhattan by two, and decide to search the building the men had searched a few weeks ago first, just in case. They find nothing, but they’re not discouraged and move on to the next one on the list. 

Sharon can’t help but notice the difference in Steve now that they’re in New York. He’s still Steve, obviously, but there is a change that she probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been observing him for so long. Of course, now it’s not part of her job, but something she just does without meaning to. 

He looks more alive, more animated. There’s a spring in his step, a sureness to him that isn’t there when they’re in DC. New York is home for him, and it’s easily discernible to anyone that looks at him. He belongs there.  

Her heart twitches a little bit when she thinks it, because it’s just another reason for them to not be together. She adds it to her “Why Having A Crush On Steve Rogers Is Wrong And Bad” list, hating herself for even needing to have a list in the first place. But she just… _wants_ him. Wants to be around him, in the simplest and most basic way. Wants him as a friend, as a colleague, whatever she can get.  

They make their way to the final building, which is slightly more modern and less disgusting looking than all the others, and stop at the entrance. All of the other buildings had been dilapidated, falling apart, far out of the way of human traffic and just generally empty, both inside and out. 

This one is still abandoned, an old warehouse, but it’s in a more populated area. It’ll be harder to sneak in. Sam raises an eyebrow at her and Steve, trying to be optimistic. “This could be it,” he says. “Maybe the other ones were too obvious.” 

It makes sense, of course. Hydra wouldn’t be dumb enough to go for the most obvious “dark lair” building in all of Manhattan. They were smarter than that at this point, having years of practice. Plus, she’d seen Bucky’s arm. They needed real technology to keep that thing up and running. Sharon looks around, surveying the area from an operations standpoint. There aren’t a _lot_ of people around, but enough for someone to take notice. Splitting up would be best, like they’d been doing the entire time. 

“Steve and I’ll take the perimeter, you head up to the first floor?” she offers up, and both men nod. They’d been trading off who had to canvas each building alone, and it was Sam’s turn to be alone, leaving her with Steve. She’d put it off as long as possible, but she had no choice now. She hoped she hadn’t been too obvious about it. 

Sam sets off into the building, and she makes her way with Steve around the back. They have to climb a fence to get there, but it’s practically falling apart. He offers her a hand to help her jump over, anyway.  

She hears a series grunts in her comms unit, and they both pause, quiet when Sam says “Got a live one,” before moving on. Her heart speeds up. They’re close, she can feel it. She can tell that Steve does, too.  

“Two coming your way,” Sam lets them know as they’ve finally made their way around the building. She can hear footsteps coming towards them, almost at the back entrance they’ve stopped at, waiting for Sam to confirm that the first floor is secure. 

Sharon swiftly looks around, searching for a place to hide, and discovers none. They could climb up onto the roof, she rationalizes, there’s a ladder, but then if they get caught it’s a possible broken leg trying to jump off. They could run back around the building, but if Hydra is on alert now there might be a guard at the front door, and running right into the street would be too suspicious.

She turns to Steve, slightly panicking but trying not to show it. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks quickly, edging towards her.  

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”  

He’s on her within two large, purposeful steps, one hand cupping the back of her neck, tugging her face towards his, the other sliding up her hip and settling on her back. Her eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening, and she lets out a surprised sound against his mouth, stumbling backwards.  

This only helps him, because he has her trapped against the wall now, and he presses his mouth more eagerly to her slack, open one. 

She knows that it’s just a tactic. She’s done it before, and she _knows_ Natasha has used it on him before, she’d told Sharon herself. (With a cheeky grin and a “Jealous?” which Sharon had rolled her eyes at and ignored at the time.) Because the thing is, it’s just supposed to be a peck on the lips, a one-off, no-movement diversion that’s supposed to last the thirty seconds it takes for whoever the operatives are avoiding to walk away.   

But this isn’t… _that_. This is her grabbing two fistfuls of Steve’s t-shirt to pull him closer. This is him letting out a sound she never, ever thought she’d hear in her lifetime against her mouth. This is her desperately wishing it were real.   

She can just barely hear the bang of the door and footsteps swiftly making their way around to the front of the building in the background, completely ignoring what looks like two teenagers simply making out, and has to force herself to pull away from him, gasping. She can’t look him in the eye, fidgeting with her hair, which has somehow gotten loose from the ponytail she’d had it in.  

Sharon distracts herself by whispering into the comms unit she has on, which is disguised as a necklace. “Falcon, perimeter’s secure. You okay?”

Sam’s silent. She has no doubt that he’d probably heard that entire thing, and feels her face heat up in embarrassment. She still can’t bring herself to look at Steve, not wanting to see the look on his face.  

“ _Sam_.”

He clears his throat. “First floor’s clean.”

“Right. We’re coming up.” She pushes through the doorway, silently making her way up the stairs, acutely and desperately aware of Steve’s body behind her own. 

 

* * *

 

Sam’s waiting for them when they walk up, and he gives them a questioning look. She and Steve stay silent. “Next floor?” he asks, and she nods brusquely, leading the way. She hears them falling back behind her, whispering something she can’t make out, and doesn’t really want to. 

Sharon quickly makes her way up the stairs, not expecting to find much. She’s completely blindsided by what happens next. Her breath is literally knocked out of her body by a large arm that grabs her by the throat and slams her against the wall the second she gets up to the second floor. 

She hits it with a gasp, eyes growing three sizes when she takes in the person who currently has her in a chokehold. It’s _Rumlow_ , she thought Sam had killed him, fucks’ _sake_. She struggles against his grasp, landing a kick to his knee, but it’s not enough to dislodge him.   

“Never thought I’d see your pretty face again,” he growls, clutching harder, and she tries to open her mouth for air. Finally, after what seems like years (but what was probably thirty seconds), Rumlow’s grip is released from her neck with a swift right hook to the face from Steve. Sharon slides down the wall, blissfully breathing air into her lungs. 

Sam kneels over to help her up, gently prying her to her feet with a hand on her elbow, and she can hear the distinct sounds of Rumlow and Steve fighting next to them. 

"This is for dropping a building on my face," she hears Rumlow snarl. "You know, he remembered you. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.” She turns, watching Steve land another solid blow against the disgusting asshole, enough to knock him backwards.  

Sharon doesn’t hesitate. She grabs the gun out of her holster and shoots him, once, twice, three times; once in the leg and twice in the chest. She doesn’t hit him directly in the heart like she wants to, but she’s still a little woozy from having no air, and she’s more concerned about stopping him from getting to Steve than anything. 

Steve’s eyes meet hers, then, and that takes her breath away more than Rumlow ever could have. He looks equal parts grateful and worried, walking towards her. He lifts his right hand to her neck, gently touching the skin there, which she knows is probably red and is most likely going to bruise. She shivers.  

Sharon looks over at Rumlow’s body, laying on the warehouse floor, to make sure that he’s still incapacitated. He’s groaning, which makes her smirk. He deserves it. 

“Cap,” she hears Sam call from another room, and Steve presses a warm hand against her side. 

“You okay?” he asks, and she nods weakly.  

“Just dandy,” she answers, as he leads them to where Sam is. She hadn’t even noticed that Sam had left her side, but she was so focused on the fight that she couldn’t think about anything else. 

Her hands fly to her mouth as they walk in, she can’t help it. Barnes looks so scared, crouching around some abandoned factory parts, his face dirty and hair covering his face. His eyes meet Steve’s and she can see Steve’s jaw clench.  

She places a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down. Everything is quiet, tense, and she feels the silence in her bones. None of the men are saying anything, which is just typical of them, so she decides to make the first move. 

“James?” she says softly, easing towards him. “Do you know where you are?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then, “Yes.” 

“Do you know who he is?” she asks, cocking her head in Steve’s direction. 

“Yes.” His voice is raspy from lack of use. “’S Steve,” he supplies her, and she smiles warmly at him. 

“Good.” It’s not much, but it’s something. Enough to know that he won’t hurt them. 

She turns around, looks at the other two men. 

“He can stay at my place,” she offers to Steve. “I mean, it’s small, but I have that guest room. You guys didn’t have a problem with it. Just until you work out what to do.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile, but doesn’t agree. “I was thinking of brining him to Avengers Tower,” he says instead, and Sharon immediately shakes her head before he says anything else. 

“You know Tony won’t let you do that.”  

He looks confused by the information.  

“I know Stark is a dick, but come on, I’m sure—“ 

“Steve.” Her voice goes soft. She had no idea that he didn’t know. “The Winter Soldier killed Tony’s parents.” She remembers the day they’d both found out. Sharon had only been fifteen at the time, and Tony had pulled her out of school. She knew immediately from the way his hands were shaking on the steering wheel that something was horribly, horribly wrong.  

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, jaw tensing. “So we’re on our own.” 

“Maybe not,” Sam chimes in. “I know a guy.” 

 

* * *

 

If Sharon had thought the ride to Manhattan was quiet, the ride back was a thousand times worse. Steve had insisted on sitting in the back with Bucky, just in case he decided to go haywire again, and Sharon ended up in the front seat, constantly twisting around to lock eyes with him. Bucky hadn’t said a word since she’d spoken to him in the warehouse, and he looks completely out of place in the back seat of Sam’s car. 

Steve looks equal parts relieved and devastated. 

It’s unbearably quiet. Sam hadn’t even turned on the radio, for fear of setting Bucky off, and Sharon was starting to get a kink in her neck from constantly turning around.  

They had left Rumlow back at the warehouse, which she really regretted, but she was sure that her bullets would leave sufficient damage. And, if he didn’t die, she’d gladly go for another round to pay him back for the ungodly amount of scarves that she was going to have to wear for the next couple of weeks. 

After that, Sam had put in a call to his “guy”, who apparently lived in San Fransisco. He was coming out on the next flight, but even on the fastest plane, the flight to DC would still be about five or six hours. 

So much of their work was just sitting around and waiting. She hates it. 

They finally make it back to her apartment at around eight at night, and she lets them all in. She feels like a weird, twisted version of a mother duck, leading all of her ducklings along. She makes her way to the kitchen in complete silence, deciding to make herself and Barnes a cup of tea. “Nothing a nice cup of tea can’t cure,” Aunt Peggy had told her an infinite amount of times when she was younger. She hopes Bucky appreciates the sentiment.  

Steve and Sam need to leave immediately for the airport after they settle Bucky in on her couch. Her apartment is starting to feel like a place for random stragglers more and more each day — she has no idea how it happened.  

Sam goes to start his car again while Steve walks over to her in the kitchen. 

“Will you be okay alone with him?” he asks her, glancing at her neck. It still hurts, she has to admit, but she’s a big girl.  

“I can handle myself,” she tells him, the warmth of her mug soothing her nerves just slightly. 

“I know.” His response is immediate. “I know you can. I just don’t know…” he trails off, glancing towards the couch. She gets it. He doesn’t know who his friend is anymore. 

“If anything, I still have my gun. And Natasha’s number,” she adds with a wry grin, trying to assure him. 

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.” 

“I’ll wait up.” 

He looks like he wants to say more, but instead settles for pulling her close, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. It’s the second time he’s surprised her with his mouth today, but she can’t say she doesn’t like it. They’re going to have to talk about it, eventually. But for now, it’s enough to just stand there for a while, in the comfort of each other’s warmth. Sharon closes her eyes, breathing in his scent. Sweat, and dirt, and something more, something that’s uniquely Steve. She lets out a shaky breath when he pulls away. 

His hand brushes her arm gently before he leaves, and she waves as he walks through the door of her apartment.  

Sharon steadies herself for a minute, then takes a deep breath, grabs the other mug off of her kitchen counter, and makes her way over to the couch where Bucky’s sitting. She gently places it on the table in front of him. 

He doesn’t move for a good minute, but eventually leans over to pick it up. With his human hand, she notices, not his robot one. That’ll take some time to get used to.  

“I’m Sharon,” she offers him with a small smile. “Sharon Carter.” He flinches at that. She presses on, hoping it doesn’t trigger anything too awful for him.  

“I think you knew my aunt,” she tells him. 

“Peggy,” he croaks. 

“That’s right.” It’s not unlike speaking to a child, Sharon realizes. For different reasons, of course, but the sentiment is still here. She has to be careful, and kind. She has no idea what Hydra’s done to him. It’s better to play it on the safe side. “The tea okay?” she questions him, and he nods, once. It’s a sharp movement, like he’s not sure. “Do you want anything else?” He shakes his head. Again, just once, back and forth. 

This is going to be a long night, she realizes. She doesn’t know what to do, if she should turn on the TV or if that would scare him, if she should say anything else or not.

Sharon thinks about the parallel lives he and Steve have lived. How odd it is that they’ve both turned up again, in this century, having both been frozen for so long. Steve literally and Bucky figuratively. She wants to ask him an endless amount of questions, about what Steve was like before. About what Hydra did to him all those years, about what he remembers. Instead she settles for sipping more of her tea, hoping it’ll encourage Bucky to do the same. And she waits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't already, please read [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4724213) incredible story that my friend has written about tony and sharon through the years. it's basically 100% my headcanon for them, except for a few facts that i have different in my own story. but yeah. it's amazing. go read it. and tell me what you thought of this chapter. all of the comments mean the world to me. as always, come check me out on [tumblr](http://www.jessaminelovelace.tumblr.com), i'm always happy to cry about steve/sharon with everyone that will listen.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a thanksgiving miracle! i hope everyone in the states has had a good holiday! enjoy some angst and what not. not much happens in this chapter, so forgive me. i think the next one will make up for it though

 

 

 

But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
\- Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening 

 

* * *

 

"Are you…" Sharon pauses. "Okay" isn't really the right word to use, considering the state they found him in. She can see the weariness in Bucky’s face, the worn lines and hollow cheekbones and dark, black bruises underneath his eyes. Her eyes trace the scarring along his metal arm; angry, blue and black veins against the sickly paleness of his skin. He probably hasn't been okay for a long time.  

"Hungry?" she asks instead, settling on neutral ground.

He just shrugs, and her mind flashes through different scenarios of Bucky trying to speak only to be hurt for it. She can see the way he’s tense on the edge of the couch, fists clenched and shoulders tight every time she opens her mouth. She doesn't know how to fix that, how to make him see that she isn’t going (and doesn’t _want_ ) to hurt him. "Did they… feed you?” 

He shrugs again, grimacing. "Sometimes," he rasps, and god, she just wants to give him a big hug or something. Huge emotional moments aren't really her thing, but she feels like he deserves one. Who knows how long he's been deprived of basic human contact.

"I could make some mac and cheese," she offers, one of the only things that she knows how to cook herself, and he nods. Sharon leaves the living room, TV buzzing softly in the background. She'd put it on earlier in the night when the silence had become too much. They were just watching informercials now. Nothing good was on this late, but Bucky didn't seem to mind. It relieved the silence, at least. 

She busies herself with making the box of mac and cheese, deciding to use the entire thing because he's probably hungrier than he had let on. Her eyes flick towards the clock on the microwave, the green light stinging her eyes. It’s dark out, almost three AM, but she doesn’t think turning on too many lights would be a good idea. Something about the darkness is comforting, keeps them from thinking too much, settled in a half-sleep state without actually letting their guard down enough to actually sleep.  

After she sets the bowl down in front of Bucky, she wanders into the bathroom, giving him some privacy. He looks thankful even though he doesn't say anything, which makes her feel okay with leaving him alone, even if it is only for a few minutes. 

Sharon inspects the marks on her neck in the bathroom mirror, silently seething. She'll definitely have to wear an annoying amount of cover-up for the next few weeks, along with all of the scarves that she owns (which isn't many). She debates taking off a few days from work, maybe, although what she really wants to do is quit the job altogether. It’s not like she’s doing anything useful at the CIA, anyway. 

After a quick moment of deliberation she takes out her phone, deciding it’s time to let Natasha in on what’s going on. She wasn’t sure when they found him, at first, because Bucky could’ve been angry or unstable and unable to recognize his friends from his enemies. But after spending some time with him, she thinks that it should be fine. Sharon has no idea how Natasha will react, of course, but she trusts her not to take out her anger on him despite their history. 

She sends a simple “we found him” text, knowing that Nat will understand. It’s cryptic, yes, but what’s the fun in being a spy if you can’t be a little dramatic every now and then? 

Her phone beeps at the same time that she hears a soft knock on the door. Natasha had answered her with a simple “i’m coming over”, succinct as always. Sharon doesn’t really know what they’re going to accomplish tonight, but she doesn’t question the fact that Nat wants to be in the loop.

Tucking her phone in the waistband of her sweats, she takes her time walking to the door and looking through the keyhole, which she usually never does — act first, think later is her usual go-to move when it comes to her apartment, which has led her to being bombarded by surprise visitors too often these days. Better safe than sorry, the Academy had taught her. 

Sharon lets out a sigh of relief when she sees Steve first, in the front of a small group of people, and Sam right next to him. With them is a familiar looking man and a woman with a black bob. She opens the door.

Steve's gaze rakes up and down her body, inspecting her neck last, eyes flitting over the bruises that are forming there. He looks so relieved that nothing has happened to her in the few hours that he's been gone, so much so that she wants to kiss him.

It doesn't scare her as much as it should, thinking about it. In fact, it’s all she’s been able to think about since, in between worrying about Bucky and Natasha and Tony when he finds out, and the other slew of things they’ll have to do before everything can calm down. His mouth on hers, warm and insistent, the sounds that he made, the way he clutched her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth. 

His eyes find hers and she lets out a breath, flushing slightly. She gives him a weak smile and lets them all in, pausing to switch on her lamp before she sits down. 

They all settle in on her couch, making it look tiny and overpacked. It’s odd, to say the least, having this group of people settled on her grey couch, the couch she’d bought with Angie at Ikea when she’d first moved in after graduating from the Academy. The couch that Trip had sat on, that Aunt Peggy used to sit on when she was well enough to visit. Having it now being occupied by the Winter Soldier, Captain America, the Falcon, and these two random strangers (although Sharon is _so sure_ she’s seen the guy before), is jarring. 

The bowl of mac and cheese sits empty on her coffee table, (Bucky was _definitely_ hungrier than he let on) as they sit in silence.  

Steve's huge body and Bucky's metal arm do nothing to alleviate the space problem or the awkwardness of the situation, and Sharon shifts uncomfortably where she sits on the end of the couch, Steve beside her. Her leg shakes from lack of sleep, but mostly from all of her pent up nervous energy, and Steve puts a hand on her thigh to steady her.

She lets out a soft sound, hating that everyone is so quiet, because they can all probably hear her unsteady breathing caused by his close proximity. She hates that he has no idea the effect he has on her, his touch meant to be comforting, but is instead setting her on edge; making the hairs on her arms stand; electrifying her entire body.  

The man Sam had contacted clears his throat, leaning towards her. "I'm Scott," he starts, offering her a hand to shake. He gestures towards the woman, "this is Hope." 

Sharon gives them both shaky smiles, realizing that she's probably the only one in the room (besides Bucky) who doesn't know this. 

Hope is a nice name, she thinks, trying to keep her mind off of her uncomfortableness; the way Bucky’s practically cowering on the other end of the couch; the burn that Steve’s hand seems to have left on her thigh when he pulled it away. And then she pauses. She knew he looked familiar.  

Sharon turns to Sam, ignoring Scott’s outstretched hand.  

"Scott Lang?" she raises an eyebrow, "that's your ‘guy’? I thought it went without saying that we were trying to be discreet about this?" 

"It's a long story—“ Scott interjects, and Hope elbows him in the stomach. Sam gives him a look that says "not now, man". Sharon could almost laugh, if only Bucky’s entire future didn’t depend on what they decide to do right now. 

"There's more to his situation than was covered on the news," is all the information that Sam offers her. “And the media coverage has basically died down.” 

“Right.” She pauses to think about how she should phrase her next thought. “And… what exactly is it that he can help us with?”

“Actually, uh,” Steve interjects, throwing Bucky a comforting smile, “he’s an electrical engineer. We thought he could look at Bucky’s arm, since Tony… you know.” Oh.  

She sees the way Bucky flinches when Steve says his name, hating the fact that they’re both in pain. They haven’t even had time to have a proper conversation since they’ve found him, and she just wants to do something to fix it but doesn’t know exactly what that could be.  

Everyone looks at her then, and she wonders what it is they want her to do with this new information. Steve inclines his head towards Bucky, who looks even more uncomfortable on his end of the couch than he’s been the rest of the night, which seems almost impossible, but things with them always have a way of getting worse before they get better.

And then she realizes that they want her to talk to him. _Her_ , as if she has some kind of special connection with him, and not Steve. But Steve and Bucky are on shaky ground, and she _is_ the one that’s spent most of the night with him, so she decides to give it a shot. (She’s definitely going to force him into a room with Steve after this is all over, so that they can hash everything out and just be _friends_ again. Steve deserves that, more than anything. He deserves to have his friend back.)  

“James,” she says softly, hoping it’s okay that she’s still using his real name, “you think Scott canlook at your arm? It’s not, like, booby-trapped, right?”  

Scott lets out a weak laugh, and Sharon presses her lips together to keep from doing the same. It’s so inappropriate, but she can’t help it. This entire thing is ridiculous. 

Bucky offers her a half smile, the first one she's seen from him since they’ve met, looking more like the man she’d seen in the exhibit, all crooked grins and laissez-faire attitude. “It doesn’t bite,” he says, “and neither do I. Well, sometimes. But it’s always mutual.” And that makes her lose it. Even Steve cracks a smile as he watches her clutch her stomach. She needed this, a good laugh — they all did. Bucky most of all. It makes him look like a person again, more alive than he’s probably been in a while. 

Then suddenly her door creaks and Natasha walks in. 

 

* * *

 

As far as entrances go, it’s a spectacular one. And, to be fair, Sharon’s seen her fair share of Natasha's entrances. Like the time in Rome when she had literally jumped out of a plane and landed by scissor-kicking a guy in the face. 

Sharon hadn’t even realized that she’d left the door open, actually, but she’s a little wired and in desperate need of sleep, so.

“Well,” Nat starts. “Isn’t this cozy.” Her eyes flick to Bucky on the couch, then over to Scott and Hope, and finally to Sharon, who’s wiping away her laughter-tears. 

Bucky sits up at full attention, completely blindsided by her appearance. Sharon knows a little bit of their history, enough to know that they had a rocky relationship that didn’t really end well. She can’t say she’s completely sorry that SHIELD captured Natasha when they did, because if not they probably wouldn’t be best friends. But she _is_ sorry about what Hydra has done to him, about all of the wasted potential of their relationship; how history literally tore them apart. 

She can see the hint of pain in Nat’s eyes when she looks at him, even though she’s smirking, trying to cover it up. 

“Natasha,” he breathes, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else in the room. Sharon can see the way her friend’s shoulders tense, even as she’s trying to hold back emotion. Years of knowing Natasha has attuned her to even the slightest movements, ones that Nat might not even know she’s making herself.  

Sharon looks over at Steve, whose mouth is open slightly in shock. Fuck. Natasha hadn’t told him. 

“Barnes,” Nat answers breezily, walking over and sitting down on the couch next to Sharon. Nat’s doing the whole not-saying-your-first-name thing when she’s angry or upset with someone thing that she does, which makes Sharon roll her eyes slightly. For someone who’s always lecturing Sharon about not being in touch with her feelings, Natasha is definitely the one acting like a middle-schooler in this case. 

Sharon feels like she’s in an episode of _Full House_ , honestly, with the amount of people that keep showing up — even though she did technically invite Natasha herself. She wouldn’t be surprised if Fury and Maria Hill walked in next, along with Coulson and the rest of his team.  

The more the merrier, apparently. 

Bucky doesn’t stop staring at Natasha, which should be creepy, but instead it’s just sort of sad. Sharon wants to do something about it, force the two of them to have a conversation too, even though now isn’t the right time. 

“Nat, you probably know Scott Lang and Hope—” Sharon pauses, unsure. 

“Van Dyne,” the woman supplies, and Sharon raises her brows in surprise. 

“Hank Pym’s daughter?” she asks, and Hope parts her lips.

“How did you—?” 

“Sharon Carter,” she grins, pointing towards herself, “Peggy was my aunt.”

“Small world,” Hope smiles back, and Scott’s looking at her like she’s a mystery he can’t wait to solve. (Sharon thinks that it’s probably not the first time that Scott’s been completely confused by new information, but it says something about him that he’s taking it like a champ.)  

She suddenly feels a sort of kinship with Hope. She doesn’t know much about Hank, just small bits and pieces about his company and his family (Hope and Janet) that Aunt Peggy had let her know over the years. But it’s nice having her here now, a part of Peggy, however small that part might be. 

Sharon looks back at Natasha, who’s uncharacteristically silent, still glancing at Bucky out of the corner of her eye as she studies the two newcomers to their group. 

“We haven’t been acquainted; wish it could’ve been under better circumstances, but—“ Nat shrugs like, _what can you do_?

It’s quiet again and Sharon can’t stand it. “Do you two have a place to stay?” she asks Hope and Scott, and they both nod. There goes the idea that she could have taken them to the guest bedroom to give Bucky and Nat some sort of privacy.  

She looks at Steve, distressed, and he picks up on her signal. “Scott, why don’t you and Hope get stared on Bucky’s arm? That okay?” The last part he directs at his friend, the first time they’ve directly spoken since they found him, and Bucky nods, the corners of his mouth rising up. It’s a start.

Steve addresses Natasha next. 

“Nat,” he snaps, not even bothering to say her name in its entirety, which makes Sharon raise her eyebrows sightly. He must’ve been angrier than he’d let on about her knowing Bucky. “Kitchen?” he asks, although it doesn’t sound like a question. Nat rolls her eyes but gets up to follow them. Sam leaves his spot on the couch too, after making sure that Scott and Hope have everything under control.  

“Were you ever going to tell me that you knew him?” Steve asks Nat right off the bat, and Sharon to her friend, arms crossed, silently backing up Steve. She has a vague thought that this might be what it would be like to parent with him, and dismisses it immediately. 

“I don’t think the best way to gain your partner’s trust is to tell them that you slept with their best friend,” Natasha hisses, trying to keep quiet so that the group in the living room doesn’t overhear them, and Steve’s face contorts into something that on most days would make Sharon laugh. Considering her fatigue and the general atmosphere of the night, though, she stays silent.  

Steve takes a step closer to Natasha, eyes blazing, and Sharon places a hand on his chest to calm him down. She understands why he’s upset. It seems like everyone’s past is entangled when it comes to them, and trying to make sense of it always ends up with a lot of fighting and unresolved feelings. “Steve,” she says softly, and feels him inhale. “We’ve all been through a lot tonight. Let’s just… wait ‘till tomorrow to try and figure things out.”

There’s not really anything else they can do tonight. After Bucky’s arm is “fixed”, for lack of a better term, they can figure out a plan in the morning. Sharon’s resolved in the fact that they can’t go to Avengers tower, but besides that she has no idea where else they _can_ go.    

Sam throws Sharon a supportive smile and she can’t help but smile back, glad that someone’s on her side. She’s sick of fighting, of seeing everyone else be hurt and defeated. Sometimes doing nothing is the only thing that they can do. 

She excuses herself and walks back over the couch, where Scott has set up some tools and is slowly working on the hardwiring in Bucky’s arm.

“Hey,” she starts, twisting her hands like she used to at the Academy, before she’d gotten a hold of her anxiety. “Is this something that you need to get done right away, or do you think you can finish tomorrow? It’s getting late.” 

Scott pauses for a second, appraising his work. “Just give me a few minutes to finish up what I’m doing now and we’ll split.” Hope gives him a look that makes it seem to Sharon like she’s questioning why she’d come here with him in the first place, but then she settles into a small smile, which makes Sharon grin in return. They’re cute.  

She sits down next to Hope while they wait for Scott and tries not to listen for signs of a struggle in the kitchen. She trusts Sam to keep Steve and Nat in line. 

 

* * *

It’s almost five the morning when Hope, Scott, and Natasha leave. Nat had wanted to stay, Sharon could see it in her eyes, but she couldn’t find an excuse good enough to convince herself to do so. Sharon would’ve let Natasha stay regardless, of course, but Nat is the kind of person that needs to rationalize the things she does. And sometimes, for her, feelings aren’t good enough. Sharon knows what that's like. 

She stands by the door with Sam and Steve after everyone is gone and Bucky's fallen asleep. The poor guy had clocked out while Scott was finishing up whatever he was doing to Bucky’s arm, and no one had the heart to move him from Sharon’s couch.

Sam is very obviously tired, running a hand over his face to keep himself awake. Steve is less so, but Sharon knows that he’s just putting on a brave face. There’s more to being tired than just the physical aspect of it. He’s had to deal with a lot tonight besides having to keep himself awake. 

“I think I’m going to stay here for the night,” Steve tells Sam, which both surprises and scares her. She wants him to stay, too, but she doesn’t know if her reasons are as pure as his. He probably just wants to keep an eye on Bucky. “You go on.” 

“You sure, man? I’m your ride.” Sam quirks an eyebrow at him, but Steve just waves him off. 

“We’ll all have to be back here tomorrow, anyway. And I just… can’t leave.” Steve shrugs, and Sam nods in understanding. He gives Sharon a small pat on the arm before he walks out and closes the door behind him.  

“Sharon,” Steve starts, turning back towards her after he locks the door behind Sam, “I think we should talk.” 

Her heart feels like it’s skipping out of her chest. “Right.” _Eloquent, Carter_ , she chides herself. _A real scholar, aren't you_? Steve doesn't comment on her lack of speech, just looks at her. It's probably supposed to make her feel comfortable, but has the opposite effect. She feels feverish. 

Steve licks his lips, hands in his pockets. “Bedroom?” he asks, and her stomach flips. She knows he hadn’t intended for his words to come out the way they did, and she’s too anxious to make a cheap joke about it like she usually would.  

“Lead the way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will forever be apologizing for how long it takes me to get these chapters out. there aren't that many left, and i have the next one mostly planned out, so hopefully i can get that one out faster than this one. please tell me what you thought, and if you noticed any typos, etc. because i'm high on mashed potatoes


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so emotional i'm sorry but anyway have fun!!! it won't always be this dramatic and sad

And I will make sure to keep my distance  
Say, "I love you," when you're not listening  
And how long can we keep this up?  
\- Christina Perri, Distance

 

* * *

 

Sharon follows Steve as he makes his way from the front door towards her bedroom. In a different world, this could’ve meant something else. It could’ve been just her and Steve, no one and nothing in their way, him leading her towards the bedroom for entirely different reasons. She wants that. She wants it so much.  

But it’s not a different world. This is the world that they live in. This world where Peggy’s dead and they’re alive and nothing seems to be working in their favor. Except, maybe, Natasha. But that’s an entirely different story.  

Sharon pauses in the living room, trying to buy herself some time, not quite ready for the conversation that they’re about to have. “Give me a sec,” she whispers to Steve, and he nods, although his eyebrows are furrowed in confusion.  

She secures a blanket from one end of the couch and gently drapes it over Bucky’s sleeping form; he’s shivering slightly in his sleep. He looks different like this, peaceful, with no one bothering him. Some wires in his metal arm are loose, Scott’s unfinished work. Sharon lets herself imagine the kinds of nights Bucky’s had with Hydra, probably locked up in a dungeon somewhere, and inhales a sharp breath. What right did she have to hurt when he had to deal with something like that? 

Turning around, Sharon runs her fingers through her hair and motions for Steve to keep going. His eyes are hooded as he watches her, but he says nothing and makes his way down her small apartment hallway. She follows him in silence, afraid to speak. Everything feels so fragile, so breakable, and she has no idea what to say even if she did open her mouth. 

It’s odd, having him in her room. She thought that she was used to it, having him in her house, having him around in general, but she’s not. Everything about him constantly seems new, and it makes her head spin. She doesn’t know what to do, so she sits down on the bed, and after a few seconds he does the same. They don't turn on the lights.

It's even worse, having him in her bed, knowing that she's going to do what she is. She wants him in her bed without the rest of the world commenting on it, without obstacles, without knowing that she has to put the mission first again. But they do, and there are, and she has to. 

Sharon can’t bear to look at him. His hand finds hers in the dark and she closes her eyes, her entire body tingling. He keeps touching her and she can’t stand that it’s all she can ever think about. Even worse is the fact that he doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s doing it. 

It’s like their kiss was a catalyst, something that has subtly changed their relationship in the span of a few hours, and they can’t go back from it. 

How _can_ she go back to him hating her and ignoring her at SHIELD when she knows what the opposite feels like? How can she lose him? 

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Steve blurts, and his eyes find hers. Her own have adjusted to the dark by now, and she feels her heart speed up as she’s looking at him. “Sharon.” It’s all he can say, just her name in a pleading sort of tone, but it feels like so much more. 

She can almost feel her heart splitting in half, or some other absurd, horrible idea, as she stares anywhere but his eyes: his jaw, covered in stubble that she’s never seen before; his t-shirt, wrinkled and covered in blood — his own, Rumlow’s, maybe; the way his hair has grown out in the time that she’s known him.  

Aunt Peg and Uncle Gabe’s relationship had seemed so… _magical_. Like as long as they had each other, nothing could go wrong. No one had ever told Sharon that you could love someone and feel like absolute shit about it. Why does she feel so fucking _guilty_?  

“It’s all I can think about too,” she whispers, like it’s a secret. “But I’m not…” she shuts her eyes, hating that she feels like she has to say it, “I’m not her.” Sharon’s lived in her aunt’s shadow for a long time. At the Academy, at SHIELD, even at the CIA. Her first boyfriend had only dated her because he wanted to know what the great agent Peggy Carter was like; to hear some rare, unreleased-to-the-general-public Captain America stories. “I can’t be some cheap replacement for my aunt.” _Again_ , she wants to add, but doesn’t. 

She opens her eyes and watches Steve’s mouth open and shut. “I never wanted you to be,” he tells her, and it’s almost too much. Her skin burns. “Sharon, when I’m with you, it’s the _only_ place that I want to be.” 

Sharon lets her mouth twitch into a small smile, and immediately rearranges her features. “I’ve never…” she trails off, not sure how to phrase it. Never wanted someone so much. Never felt anything like this. Never thought that love was something that she could have for herself. 

Steve raises his hand towards her face, tugs a piece of her hair around his fingers. “I know,” he says, smiling warmly at her, understanding what she means without having to ask. “Me too.”  

It’s too much now, being near him. Sharon pulls herself away from him, settling at the foot of her bed. “Steve, I’m sorry,” she says, and hates the way that her voice cracks. Her entire body is screaming at her. _What are you doing?_ it’s saying, but that just makes her shut down even more. She curls her arms around herself, the marks on her neck throbbing. “I can’t. _We_ can’t.” She picks at her old, ratty blanket, holding her breath.   

Tony had gotten it for her when she was a baby, the first time he saw her. Not that she remembers it, but Aunt Peggy had told her. Apparently she wouldn’t let anyone near the thing for weeks. She has a habit of being stubborn about things.  

She can’t look Steve in the face. He still hasn’t said anything. She digs her nails into her palm. 

“I understand.” Sharon’s head whips up. She can’t really tell in the dark, but his eyes look off, and she wonders if she’s doing the right thing. She wants to stop him as he walks out of her room, but she can’t bring herself to open her mouth. Duty first. That’s what her life is supposed to be. They’re supposed to help Bucky and save the world and defeat Hydra. 

Her bedroom door clicks shut and she flinches. Technically, it’s not even night anymore, but she settles in to get at least an hour of sleep before everyone comes back again. The first rays of sun are slipping in through the cracks in her blinds, and she shuts her eyes tight, trying to block them out. She lets a few tears escape. Lets herself have that, just this once, before she falls asleep. 

 

* * *

 

Sharon wakes up to voices coming from the living room and almost reaches for the gun under her pillow, until she remembers last night and the army of people that she’s agreed to host in her house. She checks her alarm clock; seven-thirty in the morning. She only got two hours of sleep.  

Wiping her eyes, Sharon wanders into the bathroom, not wanting to see anyone this early. She does want to know how Bucky’s doing, but she also doesn’t want to face Steve after what she did. Last night she felt like she was making the right decision. Duty over her own feelings. It’s what she’s always been taught, what she’s always believed in, until he came along. He’s the only one that has ever made her doubt that. 

One look at him will have her in tears, again, she knows it. But she has no choice. 

The conversation dies when she walks into the room, which is always just a great way to start off a day. Bucky is sitting up and looking better after a night’s sleep, which is a good sign. Steve is sitting on the floor across from him, leaning against the wall. Bucky looks up at smiles at her. Steve looks at the floor. 

She deserves it. 

“Good morning,” she says as animatedly as she can to Bucky, trying to ignore the stab to her heart. “You’re looking better.” Bucky grins at her. 

“Sleep will do that to you,” he says, “who knew?” Sharon laughs, glad that he’s feeling well enough to make jokes, even if she does feel like a sack of deep-fried shit. Someone deserves to be happy, at least. 

“You two want coffee?” she asks, and Steve shakes his head.

“Please,” Bucky says, and she nods, moving towards the coffee pot mechanically. It’s still too early for her to function properly, but a cup of coffee will be a good start. 

“Natasha called,” Steve says, while her back is turned. “She’s on her way. Sam’s coming over with Hope and Scott a little later.” 

“Do we have a plan once Bucky’s arm is fixed?” she asks, not really wanting to know the answer. After this, Steve has no reason to stay. She’ll have to go back to work tomorrow morning and it’ll be like this never happened. She’ll be alone again, this time for good. No more chase, no more friends, no more Steve.  

But that’s what she wanted, isn’t it?

“I was hoping we could all figure something out together,” he offers, and Sharon nods, her back still turned.  

It’s silent as she makes the coffee and eventually brings it over, sitting closer to Bucky than she had the night before. He’s starting to seem more like himself, not that she’d been particularly worried last night. Sympathetic, maybe, but they’ve all been through some shit. And Sharon knows how to take care of herself.  

Sharon reaches for the remote, idly flicking through channels. She settles on a _Friends_ rerun, lowering the volume so that it’ll work as background noise. She looks through her phone, waiting for a next from Natasha; a call from work; _something_. Anything to distract her from this awful silence. 

There’s a knock on the door. _Oh, thank god_. 

 

* * *

 

“We gonna talk about this?” Sam asks, joining Sharon and Natasha in the kitchen while the others are working on Bucky’s arm in the living room. Sharon realizes that she’s been spending a lot of time in her kitchen lately, but her home isn’t that big. There’s only a few places where they can actually lay out maps and equipment without venturing into her bedroom, and after last night, she doesn’t want to spend much time there ever again. Plus she likes to stress eat, which is great for everyone else, because they get fed, but not so great for her. 

Sam keeps his voice low, tilting his head towards Sharon. Natasha eavesdrops anyway.  

“Nothing to talk about, Sammy,” Sharon teases, hoping that it’ll throw him off. She’s usually an amazing liar, but her heart’s not in it, and besides, Sam isn’t so easily fooled. They’ve become pretty close over the past few months.  

“You sure about that?” he motions towards Steve, who’s leaning against the arm of her couch, watching Scott work on Bucky’s arm and (trying to) sneakily glance over at her and Sam while they’re talking. Sharon cringes.  

“It’s complicated.”  

Sam scoffs. “Isn’t everything these days?” He pauses, rests a hand near, but not on, her arm. Sharon’s pretty particular about physical touch, so the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt. Either of you.”

Sharon shrugs, biting her lip. “It’s a little too late for that, I’d say.”  

“You’re so dramatic,” Natasha hisses, elbowing Sharon in the ribs. Sharon scowls at her. “What are you so worried about? He _likes_ you.” Sam nods in agreement. 

“I don’t really think this is the appropriate time to be discussing my love life,” Sharon snaps at Nat, trying to keep her voice low. She really, really hates feelings. Natasha rolls her eyes. (It hadn't gone unnoticed to Sharon that from the second Natasha had arrived at her apartment, she's been avoiding Bucky like the plague. Sharon could comment on that, but she doesn't, because she's a good friend.) 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I feel like I’m betraying Aunt Peggy’s memory,” Sharon finally admits, defeated. “Isn’t it just… I don’t know. Weird?”  

“You know,” Natasha says slowly, in a more sympathetic way than Sharon’s used to. Maybe it’s because Bucky’s back, and all of her pent-up emotions are bubbling to the surface, but whatever. Natasha’s not being sarcastic for once. Sharon feels like she should be filming this. “For a spy, you are really awful at seeing what’s right in front of you. Sharon, come on. You two are literally suffocating everyone in this apartment with all of your stolen glances and sighs and _whatever_. And for the record, he was never in a relationship with Peggy, who was also happily married. So. Get over yourself.” She pauses for a second, taking a breath after her rant. “And under him. For all of us.”

Yup, there she is. That’s the Natasha that Sharon knows and loves. Sam, meanwhile, is trying to stifle his laughter, and Sharon rolls her eyes at him. Stupid Avengers, thinking they know what’s best for everyone.  

“Let’s just deal with this when Bucky’s safe and we can all breathe, okay? Drop it.” The last part she directs at Natasha, who just smiles smartly at her. 

Sharon wanders back over to the couch to check on Scott’s progress, and Hope throws her a smile. "Scott's almost done," she tells her, "he's just working on some final adjustments." 

"And then no more evil robot arm?" Sharon asks with a small laugh, and everyone else laughs. It's nice in that moment to not think about the grand scheme of things, like they're just a group of friends watching a movie and joking around with each other. But they _do_ have bigger issues that they need to solve. 

“Any ideas on where Bucky should stay after all this?” Sharon throws out to the group, and Natasha pipes up from the kitchen. 

“We’re taking him to Avengers Tower,” she says, like it’s already been decided. Steve starts to shake his head at her, which Sharon really appreciates, considering, but Natasha just cuts him off. 

“Stark cares about her,” she says, gesturing towards Sharon. “And, loath as he might be to admit it, he cares about his team. So he’s just going to have to suck it up, because it’s the only place… Bucky will be safe until we have Hydra under control. They wouldn’t dare attack the place where all of the Avengers live, at least not yet.” 

Sharon notices Natasha’s stumble over Bucky’s name but doesn’t say anything, again. Sharon has her way of dealing with her romantic issues, Natasha has hers. Even if it is a little annoying that Nat seems to be solely focused on Sharon’s problems, she’ll take the brunt of it for now. Bucky and Nat have more history than Nat is willing to deal with right now, and for the sake of friendship, Sharon will allow the focus to be shifted on her. 

Once she deals with her problems, Sharon sure as hell is going to deal with Nat’s. Natasha needs a taste of her own match-making medicine. 

But not yet. Right now they have to deal with the inevitable argument that will ensue when they drive all the way _back_ to New York and Tony realizes what it is they’re going to ask him for. It’ll be an adventure, to say the least. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Sharon says slightly uncomfortably, sliding in next to Steve on the couch. “So, um. Sam’s taking Hope, Scott, Nat and Bucky in his car, and uh. You need to take your bike back to New York, right?”  

He nods, not saying anything. Normally, Sharon would find his lack of speech endearing. She likes that he listens before he speaks, that he thinks and actually pays attention. But right now, she just wants him to _say_ something. She hates how annoying she sounds around him after what happened, unsure and pathetic. 

He doesn't have any time in DC left, now that they've made the decision to take Bucky to the tower. He has no reason to stay. Or at least... that's what Sharon wants to convince herself of. The only reason he'd have left would be because of her, and Sharon's not sure she's ready for that yet. Doesn't know if she can really face everything that's between them. 

It's mostly her doing, this barrier that she's set up between them, Aunt Peggy and time and distance — but she also has good reasons for doing so. All of these things seem so insurmountable, and yet, when she lets herself, she thinks that they can overcome all of them. She _wants_ to overcome them, but she's a coward. So she says nothing. 

“I’ll give you a ride,” he offers, and she lets out a sigh of relief. She almost thought that she’d have to beg, but, let’s face it. Steve’s not that kind of guy. He’s the kind of guy that’s nice to an assassin, the kind of guy who’ll get beat up just so that he doesn’t have to hurt anyone. She hates that it's just another reason to add to the list of reasons she can see a future with him.

“Great. I’ll go pack a bag.” 

 

* * *

The ride to Avengers Tower is unbearable. Sitting so close to Steve, feeling his heartbeat, the way his abs clench sometimes when he’d turn the bike, it’s practically torture. She gets off shaken and slightly horny, but she maintains that it’s his fault. He’s too attractive for his own good. 

“Steve,” she says softly, before they all make their way into the tower. “We’re friends, right?” She wants him to say no, if only for her own selfish self-punishment. 

But he just pauses for a second, and looks at her in that way that he does, like she’s the only one he can see. “Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. “Friends.” 

Okay. Friends. She can do friends. She can live with friends, if that’s all that she can get. She follows him into the tower. 

 

* * *

 

Sharon and Steve agreed to go up first, just so Tony wouldn’t feel like he was being accosted. She misses the sound of JARVIS’s voice greeting her at the door. It’s odd without him. She can’t even imagine how Tony must feel about the whole thing. 

“Share-bear!” He greets her with a huge bear hug. It’s been months since she last saw him. Steve stands across from them, and with a shit-eating grin he mouths, ’Share-bear’? Sharon narrows her eyes at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. 

“It’s been a really long time,” Tony says, stepping backwards from their hug, and she can only nod in assent. “How are—“ he pauses as he takes her in, and Sharon remembers the bruises on her neck. She flushes slightly in embarrassment, even though they’re not her fault, self-consciously pressing her fingers to her neck. 

“What the _hell_ are those?” God, he’s only ever sounded this angry when she came to visit Peggy’s one weekend and had told him that she was being bullied. That day, he was the one whohad taught her how to properly punch someone. 

“It’s um, actually the reason we came,” she starts, and Tony crosses his arms. _Shit_. He only does that when he’s getting defensive. She’d wanted to ease him in better than this, but she’d been so wrapped up in her own problems that she forgot to cover up the bruises. “I ran into Rumlow the other day—“

“Shit! I thought Wilson killed him!” 

“Yeah, apparently not. And um, we also found something, er, some _one_ else that we’ve been looking for.” She looks to Steve for help, and he steps closer towards them.  

“Tony, we found Bucky.”  

Tony’s eyes go cold. Sharon hears the elevator climbing, and knows that Nat and the others are on their way up. She needs more time. She needs to talk to Tony alone, try to reason with him.  

He narrows his eyes at Steve. “No.” The elevator dings, and his head whips towards it. “No!” 

Sharon places a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down. She knew something like this was a possibility. There’s a sound of heels clicking on the shiny floor, and Sharon knows that it’s Pepper. She can help. 

Tony’s eyes flick between Sharon and the group of people coming off of the elevator, Bucky behind everyone else. His chest is heaving, and she knows he’s trying not to cry. He flinches away from her, taking steps towards what she can only assume is his bedroom. 

“Tony—“ Sharon tries again, and he stops her.  

“YOU WERE THERE!” Tony barks it with such an intensity that she recoils. He’s never been this angry with her, ever. “You were there.” He grits his teeth. “You were at the funeral and you were there after I found out and you _knew_. You knew it was him. You sat there with me and you opened the file.” He runs a frantic hand over his face; through his hair.   

“It _wasn’t_ him, Tony, it wasn’t, you have to—“

His eyes fly to Bucky, filled with rage. “He _killed_ them! With his own two hands!” 

“Not his hands, Hydra’s. Please—“ She’s on the verge of tears now, trying to make him understand. Bucky has nowhere else to go. 

“What is this really about, Sharon, huh? Is it about Steve?” Tony whirls on him. “You know, sometimes I just want to cave your pretty face in.”

“Tony.” Pepper’s tone is sharp; angry. “That’s enough. I think we all just need to… take a breather.” She motions towards the elevator. Everyone’s stepped aside to clear the path towards it. “Come on,” Pepper insists. Tony is still for a few seconds longer, glaring at Steve. Then he follows Pepper towards the doors. 

He doesn’t even look at Sharon on his way out. She tries not to let it sting as much as it does, even though she’s seconds away from losing it, like she had at Peggy’s funeral. She can't handle Tony being this angry with her; hating her. He's the only family she has left. 

Steve places a gentle hand on her elbow, leading her towards the stairs on the opposite side of the elevator. She stumbles along after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm avoiding writing a paper for this lmao so please tell me what you think!! if sharon seems annoying or wishy-washy with her feelings, just try to see it from her point of view. she obviously likes steve a lot, but she feels like the whole thing with peggy and a lot of obstacles are standing in their way, and as a shield agent it's hard for her to put her emotions first. anyway. i love sharon carter a lot okay bye


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm baaack! it's been a while, i'm sorry. please don't kill me for this chapter. everything is going to be great don't worry. also a quick note about my idea of avengers tower: everyone has their own floor and it's big af and amazing. tony is rich okay it makes sense shhh

We won't say our goodbyes  
You know it's better that way  
We won't break, we won't die  
It's just a moment of change  
All we are, all we are is everything that's right  
\- OneRepublic, All We Are

 

* * *

 

Sharon runs a shaky hand through her hair as she takes a seat on Steve’s bed, trying to remain positive and biting her lip to force back tears. She studies the room so that she doesn’t have to look at Steve’s concerned face for another second. It’s equally amazing and frustrating how kind he’s being to her right now, especially after what she did to him the night before.

“Friends”, as if. How can they be just friends after everything they’ve been through? After that kiss? 

Her eyes wander along his sparse room as he closes the door and takes a seat next to her, mimicking their position from yesterday. She takes in the framed picture of Steve with the other Commandos and Peggy, an arrow-like pain shooting through her chest when she sees her aunt’s smiling face; the Captain America poster on the wall to the right of his bed ( _possibly a joke from Tony?_ ); a few scattered art supplies on the desk across from his bed and next to the door. 

She didn’t know he painted. 

Steve speaks first. He’d been silent as he led her up the stairs to his floor of the Tower, which had made her pause for a second. Her apartment must have seemed so tiny to him, especially if he’s been living in a place like this. They’d passed his living room and kitchen, plus _two_ bathrooms on the way to his room. The fact that he never said anything about her shitty place just fixed the opinion she had of him in her mind — he was so unbelievably _good_. There was no other word to describe it. 

And she doesn’t deserve him. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that upset before,” Steve starts, and Sharon takes a deep breath, twisting her hands together. She has, but only very rarely. The day his parents died, for one. The day of their funeral. And then when he found out what had really happened to them. Still, this is the first time he’s been this upset with _her_ , specifically. It’s not a good feeling.

Tony’s the guy that always laughs it off, the one that turns everything into a joke in order to make everyone feel better. Sometimes it’s annoying, but most of the time she understands. It’s never bothered her before. The fact that he’d been so visibly shaken and gone against his nature just now hurt more than anything. 

“Tony’s more than just a friend to me, Steve. He’s… he’s the only family that I have left, now that Aunt Peggy is gone. And all I’ve done for the past two years is lie to him, and hurt him… and—“ her throat closes up, a sob starting to work its way up, and she shakes her head to try and hold it back. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve says softly, rubbing her arms gently and pulling her towards his chest, “this isn’t your fault. You had no idea he’d react like this.” 

“That’s the thing, though,” Sharon hiccups, hating how comfortable she feels pressed up against him, “I _did_ know. I should’ve fought Natasha harder on this. Tony doesn’t get mad about a lot of things. I should’ve just let Bucky stay with me and faced the consequences.” 

“You know we couldn’t let you do that. You’ve been hurt enough by Hydra.” His left hand finds the bruises on her neck, stroking lightly. “This is the safest place he can be.” 

Sharon sniffles, pulling away slightly from Steve to look up at him. “I just wish… I wish things weren’t so fucked up,” she says, and his eyebrows furrow together. “And I’m… I’m sorry for jerking you around. I—“

A knock at the door causes her to jump and move as far away from him on the bed as she can. She doesn’t know what possessed her to start talking about their relationship, but she’s glad for the distraction. Steve looks like he wants to say something, but Pepper’s head pokes through the door and Sharon lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Hey,” Pepper says quietly. It seems like they’re all whispering today. “Am I interrupting?” 

“No,” Sharon says, shaking her head and getting up just so that she doesn’t have to feel Steve’s body heat so close to her. It’s hard to just _think_ when he’s right there, crowding her in the best possible way. It’s too easy to fall into. “How is he?” 

Pepper sighs and fully lets herself into the room. “He’ll be okay,” she says. “He just needs time. He’s more upset than angry, and no matter what he says, he wouldn’t throw anyone out on the street. Seeing Bucky in person really shook him up.” 

“Do you think I should go talk to him?” Sharon asks, already knowing the answer even before Pepper shakes her head. 

“I think we should just give him some time to cool off. You guys hungry?” she asks, trying to change the subject, and Sharon’s grateful for it. 

“Don’t you know the answer to that already?” Sharon answers her with a pathetic laugh, and Pepper smiles.

“I’ll order something,” she tells them. “Any preferences?” Steve and Sharon shake their heads. 

“Where did the others go?” Sharon asks Pepper, and Pep tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She’s in jeans and a nice top, the most casual Sharon has ever seen her, making Sharon feel incredibly guilty for ruining whatever domestic thing she and Tony had been doing before they had arrived and messed it all up. It was a group decision, sure, but Sharon still feels responsible. Tony’s _her_ family, she should’ve known better than to surprise him with something like this. 

“I think they went to Natasha’s?” Pepper asks, and Sharon longs for JARVIS’s voice to pop up out of the blue, confirming Pepper’s words. 

Steve gets up and makes his way to the door, motioning for Sharon to follow. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha’s place is two floors below Steve’s, although no less extravagant. Sharon follows him down the stairs, hating the way they ended things but knowing that now isn’t the best time to finish their conversation.

When they make it down the first thing Steve and Sharon are greeted with is Hope and Scott playing video games in the living room area. Scott grins widely when he sees them, cheery despite the long day they’ve all had, and Hope smiles warmly as well, although a little more subdued than Scott. They scoot over to give Steve and Sharon room to sit. 

“We gave Natasha and Bucky some privacy,” Hope explains, nodding towards a door down the hall when she sees Sharon scanning the room for Nat. 

“They were being all secretive with their weird looks and speaking in Russian, so. We thought it was for the best,” Scott adds, and Sharon laughs because that’s probably the most Natasha-like description that she’s ever heard in her life. Good to know that Nat has an equally evasive, Russian-speaking, cryptic counterpart.

“Sam?” Steve asks, and Hope adds that he had gone to his floor to take a shower. They settle in to watch Hope whoop Scott’s butt at a game of GTA, waiting for Nat and Bucky to emerge from their love bubble, Pepper to come up with the food, and Sam to get out of the shower. 

Sharon knows that she’s jumping to conclusions about Nat and Bucky, but sue her. She needs something to get her mind off of her own romantic issues, and those two are better than nothing. Their long history just makes the entire ordeal more interesting. And sad, but Sharon will take what she can get. Someone out of their group needs to have a happy ending, Nat even more so than most. She’s been through a lot, and Sharon’s tired of her getting sidelined.

She settles into the couch and lets herself focus on the game, laughing every time Scott lets out a pathetic sound when Hope beats him.

 

* * *

 

“Do you need to be at work tomorrow?” Steve asks Sharon when everyone is gathered in Natasha’s kitchen pigging out on Chinese food. Sharon chokes on some rice in her attempt to laugh, coughing a bit at the abruptness of his question.

“Shit,” she sighs, causing everyone to laugh. She honestly has no idea what day of the week it is anymore, let alone if the CIA has contacted her while she’s been off with Steve on his Bucky chase, _or_ even if they’d realized that she had swiped part of Bucky’s file. “What day is it?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes while everyone else snickers at Sharon again. “You’re a mess, Carter.” 

Sharon rolls her eyes right back, sticking her tongue out for good measure. She could make a comment about how Nat and Bucky are sitting next to each other, but she won’t, because she’s a good friend, unlike _some_ people. “It’s Monday,” Natasha says slowly, as if she’s talking to a child, and Sharon shoves some more rice into her mouth, “making tomorrow Tuesday”. 

“I guess I can just show up tomorrow and see if I’m not fired,” Sharon mutters after she swallows, and Sam pipes up. 

“I can drive you home,” he offers, and Sharon brightens a bit, “I have to be back in DC tomorrow anyway.”

“Great!” Sharon grins at him. Steve shakes his head, smiling softly at her, and Sharon beams. It’s nice having friends, despite the shit storm going on around them. She can almost ignore the empty spot where Tony’s supposed to be sitting; the unfinished business between her and Steve. 

Almost.

 

* * *

 

“You tired of being the designated driver yet?” Sharon teases Sam after she gets sick of staring at the road. He’s weirdly quiet, which in turn makes her feel weirdly quiet, and she’s never really been great at rectifying awkward silences. 

Sam snorts and makes a turn, shrugging slightly. “I mean, if Captain America needs a ride, I’ll give him a ride. Who am I to complain?”Sharon lets out a soft sound in agreement, turning her head towards the window. 

She’s gotten so used to having people around that the silence in the car is smothering her, forcing her to face her thoughts, and they’re something she doesn’t want to deal with at the moment. She pictures Steve, alone in his empty room, her own empty apartment waiting for her, and her heart does a painful twist. 

“Steve really likes you, you know,” Sam starts, and Sharon flinches in her seat. It takes her a few seconds to respond. 

“I know. I…” her throat closes up, but she forces herself to keep talking, “really like him too.” 

“You going to do something about that?” he asks her, turning his head away from the road to look at Sharon for her answer. 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Sharon knows what she _wants_ do to, and she knows what she _has_ to do, and neither of those options are reconciling themselves into anything that seems like a good idea at the moment. “I’ve never been the kind of person to choose love over duty,” Sharon starts, trying to explain it to herself as much as she’s trying to explain it to Sam. “But now I guess I just… don’t know what my duty is anymore.”

Sam turns towards her again and Sharon looks down at her lap. “Sharon, I… I asked Steve a while ago what makes him happy, and he told me that he didn’t know. But I think… I think _you_ make him happy.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe the fact that they’re still messing everything up. “I’ve never seen the guy smile so much as he does when you’re around. And I know it’s complicated, with your aunt or whatever, but you deserve to be happy too. Both of you do. Maybe you should just… let yourself be happy and wait for everything else to fall into place.” 

Sharon closes her eyes, trying to conceal everything that she’s feeling in the moment. “You know, if you weren’t driving, I’d hug you right now,” she chokes out, and Sam laughs in earnest. “Thanks, Sam. It means a lot.” 

“Any time, blondie.”

 

* * *

 

Sharon gets back to her apartment in the early hours of the morning and debates if its even worth it to go to sleep when she’ll have to get up so soon for work anyway. And then she wonders if its even worth it to go back to work, to face Stan and Andrew and a bunch of other men who don’t appreciate her and never will. 

She’d justified the job before by telling herself that she needed the money — without SHIELD, she had nothing going for her. Can’t really walk into a typical office job with her credentials, most of which are classified, and expect to get hired. Sharon’s not cut out for a normal job. She needs to _help_ people, to feel like she's doing some good in the world. She loves the thrill of field work, no matter how terrifying and dangerous it is, no matter the risk. 

Sinking down on her sofa, Sharon lets out a loud sigh, burying her head in her hands. She’s tired, and her bones ache, and all she wants to do is take a nap for preferably the next year. That’s when the lights flick on, momentarily blinding her, and immediately go out again when she feels a large bag being shoved over her head. 

Sharon gives herself five seconds to be calm and think before she does the most important thing SHIELD Academy ever taught her: she follows her instincts. 

Allowing herself to be still for a few more seconds to give whoever it is the illusion that she’s being compliant, Sharon waits for the right moment to act. She feels an arm wrap around her throat, wincing at the pain it causes her already bruised neck, but she’s ready and ignores it, using the momentum of large body behind her to flip it over, hearing a thud as they land on her coffee table with a grunt. 

Sharon rips off the bag covering her eyes, allowing herself a quick look at the body on the floor, already starting to get up. 

It’s Rumlow. _God_ , she knew she should’ve killed him when she had the chance. She’s so _sick_ of him showing up every time she thinks she’s in the clear. 

She shoves her couch in his way, sprinting towards her front door without a second thought. She knows it won’t delay him too much, but it was worth the extra few seconds it would give her to escape. Putting some distance between them is Sharon’s first priority. She’ll worry about her apartment later. 

Her heart pounds as she runs down the stairs of her apartment building, hoping that Rumlow will at least be conscious of making a scene in such a public space.

Running out onto the sidewalk, Sharon searches for the nearest crowded building. She can’t take her car. It’ll be too messy, too restricting, and she’d left her keys in the apartment when she had run out anyway. It has to be at least six in the morning by now, surely one of the many coffee shops around where she lives will be open by now. She charges down the street, breath coming out in puffs in the cold air. 

She finally makes it to a gas station, running into the convenience store and hiding behind a shelf to catch her breath. The guy at the counter gives her a weird look but she ignores it, ripping her phone out of her pocket instead and immediately calling Sam. 

“Pick up,” she gasps at her phone, “pick up, pick up, pick _up_.” He’d only dropped her off about half an hour ago. There’s no way he could’ve fallen asleep that fast. 

“‘Lo?” he answers a few seconds later, and Sharon almost cries in relief. 

“Sam! Listen, you have to hurry. Rumlow was at my apartment. I need backup, as fast as you can. Call Fury, call Steve, call someone, _fuck_ , trace my phone, I don’t know how long I can dodge him.” She glances around the shelf of chips she’s hiding behind, anxiously awaiting the rising of the store’s bell to signal Rumlow’s presence and her upcoming demise, because she knows he’s here to kill her. 

She’s evaded him twice now, and he probably hasn’t taken that lightly. Brock Rumlow is a guy that _seriously_ holds on to grudges. 

Sharon takes stock of everyone that could possibly help her. All of the Avengers are in New York; Tony’s mad at her; she doesn’t even know if he has his private jet up there with him. She’s all on her own with this one, and she has nowhere to go. SHIELD is gone, her apartment isn’t safe anymore, _shit_. Shit shit shit. 

“Sharon, where are you?” Sam asks, and it’s obvious that he's put her on speaker because she can hear the rustling as he’s putting his clothes on. 

“The closest Shell gas station to my apartment. Hurry, I don’t know if he saw where I went.” 

“I’m on my way,” he says before hanging up. 

Again, Sharon debates her options. (Work is at the complete back of her mind at this point. If she doesn’t get fired after today she’ll quit, no doubt about it.) If she stays in the convenience store, she risks the chance of being cornered by Rumlow, and she has no idea what he’s willing to do in public. If she runs, she’ll have no car, no set destination in mind, and he might find her on some deserted street and kill her.

Wait for Sam, or go somewhere else? Fight or flight? Think, Carter, _think_. She takes another glance at the parking lot, holding her breath, and lets out a soft scream when she turns back around. 

He’d crept up on her from the other side. Sharon has no idea how he’d managed to get in without the stupid bell ringing, and she curses herself for not checking all of her angles. Rumlow reaches up to grasp the back of her head and shoves a cloth in her face. Sharon tries to hold her breath, but it’s useless. 

Everything goes black. 

 

* * *

 

Water splashing into her face is how Sharon regains consciousness, and she coughs when it enters her mouth. She sputters a bit, moving to wipe the offensive drops out of her eyes, and quickly understands that that’s going to be impossible. Her arms are tied up in handcuffs and she’s pressed up against a brick wall.

Rumlow’s standing in front of her with a bucket in his hands, looking unbelievably smug. Sharon wants to claw his eyes out. 

“You just don’t give up, do you?” she spits at him, and he has the audacity to laugh. 

“ _You_ are a lot stronger than I gave you credit for,” he grins maliciously, and Sharon’s stomach churns, “too bad you weren’t strong enough.”

“What do you _want_?” Sharon hisses, hating that she’d let herself get caught. She’d been off her game: tired, vulnerable, unaware. She swears the second she gets out of this that it’ll never happen again. _If_ she gets out of this. 

“Nothing from you, sweetheart, you’re just the bait.” Sharon grits her teeth, eyes bulging slightly when he pulls her cellphone out of his pocket. “Let’s give lover-boy a call now, shall we?” Sharon yanks against her bonds, trying and failing to kick him in the face. He just laughs at her, scrolling through her phone. He puts in on speaker, and Sharon prays for the first time in her life that Steve won’t answer. No matter what happens to her, the world needs him. 

“Hello?” his voice comes through the speaker, adorably laced with sleep. Sharon’s face crumples. 

“Steve, buddy, how’s it going?” 

The pitch in his voice changes immediately. “Rumlow,” he barks into the phone, on alert and incredibly pissed off. “Where’s Sharon? Did you hurt her?” 

Rumlow ignores the question. “You see, Steve, you have something that I want. And from your reaction, I _know_ I have something you want. Why don’t you meet me at your old apartment, with Bucky, and we can discuss this?” His voice is cold, different than Sharon remembers it. He used to be a dick, sure, but he was never this deranged. Maybe this is what happens when you cheat death. Maybe you don’t come back right. 

But Steve did. Steve came back just fine. There was something horrible in Brock that they all missed, and Sharon hates that. She should’ve caught it. She should’ve been a better agent. All at once, she thinks that Aunt Peggy wouldn’t be a single bit proud of her, and she collapses against the wall, taking a deep breath. 

“I’ll kill you,” Steve grits out through the phone, and Rumlow rolls his eyes at Sharon like it’s an inside joke. 

“Steve, don’t come!” she shouts, “It’s a trap! Stay out of it!” Rumlow lets out a sound of annoyance, growling under his breath. He rattles off an address unfamiliar to Sharon, along with a time for them to meet, and hangs up before Steve has a chance to answer. He turns to Sharon. 

“I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together,” he grins, and Sharon’s heart plummets into her stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me if you liked it!!!! i'm sorry i take forever to update i've just been in kind of a slump and school is making me really busy but i'm trying


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really wanted to update this for sharon carter appreciation month, but school got in the way. don't be too mad at me

Stay with me, baby stay with me,  
Tonight don't leave me alone.  
Walk with me, come and walk with me,  
To the edge of all we've ever known.  
I can see you there with the city lights,  
Fourteenth floor, pale blue eyes.  
I can breathe you in.  
Two shadows standing by the bedroom door,  
No, I could not want you more than I did right then.  
\- Parachute, Kiss Me Slowly

 

* * *

 

As far as torture goes, Sharon’s had worse. Not that it doesn’t still hurt like a bitch, but hey. Silver linings, and all that. 

It’s clear that Rumlow’s still holding a grudge because of what Sharon had done to him in the Triskelion, and when she had run into him earlier in the week. It’s in the way that he growls when he punches her, the precision and the angle of his attacks. He’s not looking to completely break her bones, which is vaguely comforting, but Sharon can tell that he’s extremely pissed off. He’s aiming for parts of her face and body that he knows he can easily cut up, ones that will bruise and stay bruised for weeks afterward. 

She can clearly tell that he wants to kill her, but he’s holding back, and that fact must be unbelievably frustrating for him. (It makes Sharon smirk around the bloodied cracks in her lips.) Whether it’s orders from above, or just a personal decision, it’s unnerving him that he can’t hurt her in the way that he’d like. He’s angry, which is good for Sharon. She can work with anger, because it’s making him sloppy. It gives her time to plan, time to _think_ , precious moments that she wouldn’t have had otherwise, if Rumlow was completely focused on the task at hand. 

Sharon runs over everything she can think of to do after she gets out of this. Hydra’s no longer run by Pierce, she knows that, knows that he’s dead. She needs to contact someone to figure out who is. Bobbi, maybe, or Coulson. Even Fury, if she can find a way to seek him out. Nat might know where he is, even though Sharon hasn’t personally heard anything about Fury since that night that he’d contacted her concerning Bucky. She hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t thought to think beyond getting Bucky back and helping Steve, and she can see now that that had been stupid of her. Intel is always key. At least she has a plan now. 

Rumlow’s handheld emits some static before a rough voice comes through, muttering something that Sharon doesn’t quite catch. It doesn’t bother her, because it distracts him long enough to allow Sharon to position herself perfectly for escape, and gives her time to spit out the blood that’s been dripping into her mouth. Ugh. What she would give for a nice, _long_ , hot shower at this point. 

After he’s done barking into the device, Rumlow spins around and glares at her, marching over to unlatch her from the wall. “Change of plans, blondie,” he grunts, and Sharon suppresses a shiver at hearing Sam’s nickname for her coming from his mouth.

Her binding isn’t a sophisticated system by any means. Sharon knows that they’re somewhere underground; the handcuffs had been pinned to the brick wall by a thin, metal hook, and she’d been incredibly close to unlatching herself, give or take a few minutes. Aunt Peggy had taught her how to escape handcuffs before she’d even turned nine, and besides, with the state of things in this dismal basement, in addition to the way Rumlow was acting, Sharon wouldn’t even have needed the knowledge. She had a better chance of ripping the hook out of the wall, or shimmying out of the cuffs that she had finagled Rumlow into not putting on her as tightly as possible. 

She knows that Rumlow’s probably taking her back to Steve’s old apartment now. She doesn’t know what the old plan would have been? Have Steve meet him back at the apartment without her and expect him to hand Bucky over? Even Rumlow’s not that stupid, is he? 

Sharon had been foolish to think that Steve would listen to her and stay away, anyway. That’s not the man that he is. Even if it wasn’t her, he would’ve come. He would’ve come for a single citizen. Still, she’s both angry and relived that he’s still coming to help her. She has it covered, of course, but a bit of help never hurt anyone. 

They can finally take Rumlow down, once and for all, together. 

The man in question grabs at her hair, now, shoving her off of the wall and towards the large wooden door in the corner of the room. Sharon grits her teeth, not allowing a single sound to pass through her lips. She won’t give him the satisfaction, even as he drags her along like a rag doll. He’ll get what’s coming to him. 

He moves her through the doorway and Sharon stumbles along, legs slightly shaking from being immobile so long and from the blows that he’d landed along her knees. They stop by some guards and he reaches for a dark piece of fabric. Sharon knows what’s coming, and she’s not pleased at all. She’s only been drugged a few times before, today included, but that was already one time too many. 

Imagine her surprise when he simply ties the rag around her eyes and forces her down the hallway again. He’s underestimating her, again, just like he did both times before when they’d interacted. He probably has no idea that she knows exactly how to memorize where they’re going even though she’s tied up and blind, counting her steps and the minutes it takes them to get into the car, able to roughly estimate the number of men in the facility from their voices and clumsy steps they take. 

In his eagerness to fight, Rumlow had been sloppier than she’d ever see an agent be. Why drug her and take her back to his facility if he was just going to immediately take her back to her apartment after? Why make the mess? 

To scare her, probably. Beat her up a bit, shake up her confidence, make Steve worry. Probably to show off to his disgusting Hydra goons. Unluckily for him, Sharon’s not so easily scared off or disoriented. She knows exactly what she’s doing, but he clearly doesn’t. 

They pause while walking up a flight of stairs, and Sharon hears a commotion coming from behind them. She tenses up, preparing to escape from her handcuffs. Rumlow’s hold on her tightens, but she has the element of surprise on her side. She waits for the perfect moment, listens to his radio crackle with shouts and orders, until it’s finally silent. “Alpha squad,” he growls into it, frustration rolling off his speech in waves when he doesn’t get a response. “Fuck,” he hisses, shoving Sharon back down the stairs, ripping out some of her hair and practically causing her to break an ankle with his force. 

“Shit!” he yells again when they make it to the bottom, and Sharon can hear that whoever it is in front of them, this is her chance. She shoves her knee against the handcuffs, roughly scraping her wrists as they slide off, and rips the blindfold off of her face. Wonderfully, it’s Sam in front of them, charging at Rumlow with all of the force he as in him, and Sharon lets herself have a moment of relief before she maneuvers herself into a position to help Sam. 

She doesn’t have a weapon, so she uses the handcuffs, swinging them in a way akin to nunchucks. Not the most graceful tactic, but it’s effective. She stands to the side to allow Sam to get Rumlow into a position where she can attack him. ( _Half of being a good agent is knowing when to step in and when to let others do their job_ , she hears her CO’s voice in her mind. _That’s what teamwork is_.) 

Sam lets out a grunt, kicking Rumlow in the chest and forcing him to the ground. That’s her chance. Sharon jumps at him, handcuffs ready, and lands square on top of the bastard. She wraps the handcuffs around his neck, pressing down as hard as possible. Sam runs over and kneels down to pin his arms back. 

Sharon wants to kill him, but she knows that she can’t. Letting him rot in prison will be the best thing possible. Taking him back to SHIELD for interrogation might be even better. She waits until she’s sure that he’s passed out, and uses the handcuffs to secure him afterwards. Sam helps her carry the body down the hallway. 

“How’d you find me?” she pants as they shuffle along. 

“Called Steve first. Tony tracked your phone. Then he flew Steve here. They’ve got the rest of the place covered. It’s not as secure as other places that we’ve seen,” he explains, and Sharon nods, despite the sore muscles in her neck. Hanging from the wall for a few hours does that to a girl. 

“He got cocky,” she mutters, and Sam lets out a snort in agreement. 

“You could say that again.”

 

* * *

 

Steve and Tony are surrounded by bodies when Steve and Sharon drag Rumlow’s back into the room she was being held in. Tony spots them first and he runs over to her, Iron Man suit and all. Sharon drops Rumlow’s body, making sure to keep an eye on him while Tony throws his arms around her. He pulls back for a second to brush her hair out of her face, inspecting the marks that Rumlow’s left. The cold metal of his suit is actually surprisingly soothing.

“Are you—”

“Fine.”  


“Did he—”

“No.”

“Do you want—”

“I’m _fine_.” Sharon looks at Tony in exasperation, but she can’t mask the unbelievable appreciation and relief that she feels that he’s there. That they’re still able to communicate like they did when they were kids, all clipped sentences and unfinished thoughts, but still being able to completely understand each other. They used to joke that they had a telepathic connection, and Aunt Peggy and Angie never corrected them. 

They didn’t leave things off on a good note when she’d gone back home, but now it doesn’t matter. It matters that they’re both safe, that they’re both alive. 

“I couldn’t take it if—”

“Me either. I’m sorry I—”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Tony insists emphatically, tugging her against his chest again. Sharon sees Steve watching them over Tony’s shoulder and tries to give him a reassuring smile, despite the furrowing of her brow in pain. Tony’s just a little stranger while he’s wearing his suit than he thinks he is. 

“Is everyone okay?” Sharon asks the men after Tony finally lets her go. She looks towards Rumlow again — still unconscious. Probably not for long, though. She remembers her apartment. 

“We didn’t have time to fly everyone back,” Steve tells her, and Sharon nods in understanding. 

“He won’t stay down for long. What should we do? Call the cops? SHIELD? Is there even anyone at SHIELD to call?” she wonders out loud, and Tony shakes his head. 

“I’ll take care of it. Wilson, wanna help me out?” he asks, and Sam nods wiping his brow of sweat. The stench of the bodies after the fight combined with the already musky smell of the underground is starting to have an effect on all of them. “Go home, okay?” Tony turns towards her. “Cap will drive you back.” Steve nods, agreeing with Tony for what feels like the first time ever. Sharon has to suppress a smile, even after everything. 

“Watch him, okay?” she tells both Tony and Sam again, gesturing towards Rumlow. “He doesn’t stay knocked out like a normal person. I think there’s chloroform around here somewhere,” she adds, before following Steve down the hallway and up the stairs she’d been on when they had arrived.

 

* * *

 

Steve steals one of Hydra’s cars to take her back to her place. It’s not tense in the car, but it’s getting there. She doesn’t quite know what to say to him. His eyes keep darting over towards her as he drives, which can’t be safe. She can see him tracing over everywhere Rumlow had hurt her, and each place seems to throb harder in pain when his eyes meet it. Sharon swallows, hard, thinking of something to say.

“Thank you,” she finally settles on, and his jaw clenches once, tightly, before he looks at her again. 

“I thought I was going to—” he coughs, turning back towards the road again. 

“I could’ve gotten out,” she tells him, trying to lighten the mood as per usual. “Ask Sam, I totally took my handcuffs off myself and everything.” She’s joking, trying to make it seem like it’s not that big of a deal. 

“I can see why Tony wanted me to stay away from you,” he sighs, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “To keep Bucky away from you.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she tells him. “I can make my own decisions, and I wanted to help. It would’ve happened sooner or later. Nat got captured by Ultron, do you blame yourself for that, too? Believe it or not, Steve, I’ve been behind enemy lines before. I’m still breathing, okay? I know what I signed up for when I applied to the Academy.” 

His knuckles are white against the wheel. “I know. I know, you’re right. I’m sorry, I just—” he lets out a breath. He’s pulled into their apartment’s parking lot by now. He turns to look at her fully. “Just the thought of him hurting you, and me being completely powerless to stop it, miles away, I couldn’t _think_. That’s never happened to me before. Tony was the one that had to do everything, I was paralyzed—I… being Captain America has hurt so many people, and the thought of it hurting you—” he reaches out to lightly touch her face, thumb brushing against some dry blood on her temple. 

“It’s part of the job, Steve, and it’s part of you. You’re Captain America and Steve Rogers, you can’t separate them from each other, and that’s what makes me lo—that’s what makes me _care_ about you so much.” If he notices her blunder, he doesn’t say anything, just leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Sharon closes her eyes, taking everything in, taking _him_ in. Her pulse feels wild; she feels jumpy and hazy at the same time. Steve finally pulls away from her, tugging tugging the stolen keys out of the ignition. 

“Let me walk you up,” he says.

 

* * *

 

The walk up to her apartment has never felt so long before. Sharon feels like she’s going to collapse halfway up the staircase, but Steve wraps an arm around her middle to help her make it to her door. It’s still open, her living room a hurricane, a crime scene waiting to happen. She’s surprised her super isn’t here yet, yelling and demanding payment, with an army of cops behind him. She guesses that after what Steve pulled a few months back, no one can really be bothered anymore.

His eyes widen slightly when he takes it all in, and they step through the threshold together. “Never let anyone say I go down without a fight,” Sharon says with a tired laugh, and the side of his mouth pulls up in a wry grin. His smile falls when he realizes their situation, however. The last time they’d spoken they’d never really addressed their relationship. He has no idea where he stands, and Sharon doesn’t blame him for what he says next. 

“I guess I should, ah, be on my way,” he murmurs, turning back around and reaching over to close the door behind him. Sharon can’t bear to let him leave. She doesn’t want him out of her sight, again. Ever, in fact, but for now she can work with just letting him spend the night. 

“Steve,” Sharon rasps as hand closes around the doorknob. He pauses in the doorway, and she can see his shoulders tense. He’s expecting another rejection, for her to spout off more reasons why they can’t be together. But it’s late, Sharon’s sore and tired, and she doesn’t want to pretend anymore. “Stay,” she tells him, and the change in his posture is immediate and thrilling. 

He turns to face her, expression unreadable but at least partly confused. She licks her dry, cracked lips, tasting blood, and tries to figure out how to explain what she wants. Because she knows what she wants. Being tied up like that, even with her adrenaline high and mind running, even knowing that she’d be able to escape, still made her realize how precious life was in their line of work. What if she hadn’t been so sure that she could escape? What then? Just the thought of not being able to see him again was a blow to her entire system. “Please just… stay,” she repeats. 

Sharon has never been good with words, with telling people exactly what it was that she needed or thought or felt. She knows how to punch and hurt people, how to kill men with things people wouldn’t dream of using, but being vulnerable is new to her. _Feelings_ are new to her. 

But she _wants_ to tell him. God, she wants to tell him that she was going to kill Rumlow if he had hurt him; that kissing him made her feel alive in a way that she hasn’t felt in years. And then she opens her mouth and nothing comes out. 

She tries a different approach, limping towards him and placing her shaky hands against his arms, pressing her bloodied face against his chest. He’s tense at first, but Sharon just stands there listening to his heartbeat, until he finally relaxes and wraps his arms around her. After a few seconds he reaches behind them to lock the door to her apartment, and uses the same hand to reach under her chin. He tucks a finger under it so that she’s looking up at him. 

“Is it…” he starts, his chest moving up and down in time with his breathing, warm and solid against her skin, “are we…” Steve sighs. Turns out he’s not so great at this either. 

“I want to be with you, Steve,” Sharon finally affirms. The words feel solid, more real now that she’s finally spoken them. She doesn’t regret it. “So please, just… stay with me tonight. I don’t want to be alone.” 

He leans down to press a kiss against her forehead. “Me either,” he whispers, and Sharon breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“And it’s not that I just don’t want to be alone,” she blurts, unable to stop herself now that she’s opened the floodgates. “I want to be with _you_. No more excuses.” 

His smile, despite the dirt and cuts on his face, is blinding. Sharon untangles herself from him, and even that tiny moment feels like a loss, before she grabs his hand and leads them towards her bedroom.

They’re both sweaty and covered in blood, but Sharon doesn’t care. She doesn’t care that she’s going to need to wash her sheets in the morning, that they both need showers, that she probably no longer has a job, or that Hydra’s still at large. She doesn’t worry about how Tony and Sam are doing, whether or not Rumlow’s in prison or SHIELD or if Coulson knows what’s going on. 

All she cares about is that Steve is here, and that they’re together, and that for one night they can just be themselves with nothing in the way. 

Sharon shoves aside her sheets, pulling him into the bed with her, and curls over on her side. Steve lays down and wraps himself around her, his chest against her back, his knees curling into the backs of hers. Sharon pulls his right arm around her stomach, snuggling deeper against him, and lets out a large sigh. She’d forgotten the last time she’s felt this content, this at peace with the world and herself. The sound of Steve’s breathing, combined with her exhaustion, lulls her to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's just one more chapter to go guys!! i really hope you've been liking the story so far. it's the first multichapter one that i've ever one. tell me what you thought of this, i'm not really good at fight scenes and stuff.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter, guys! i really, really hope that you've enjoyed this story, and thank you to everyone who's been reading from the beginning! this is my first really long multichapter fic, ever, and it was really hard and i'm surprised that i didn't abandon it. i know this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but now that all the action is tied up there really isn't anything else to say. also i'm still too weak to write smut. maybe one day

"All my stars are leading me to you."

\- Andrew Belle, Oh My Stars

 

* * *

 

Waking up the next morning isn’t a pleasant experience. Sharon’s sore _everywhere_. Just when she had thought that the bruises on her neck were slightly waning in their pain, Rumlow had to go and fuck everything up again. She has no idea how she’d even managed to get up and walk yesterday, let alone take him down. 

Sharon blinks a few times, letting her eyes adjust to the light, and looks around the room. The first thing that hits her once she’s finally awake is the empty side of her bed where Steve had slept last night. She rubs at her eyes, hoping that it’s a hallucination. Where could he have gone? Not back to New York, surely. He had no ride. 

To Sam’s? He would’ve at least left a note, wouldn’t he? 

Groaning, Sharon reaches for her cellphone on the bedside table, squinting when the fluorescence hits her eyes. It’s still early in the morning, not even eight yet, and Sharon’s curtains are closed. She unlocks the phone. 

Five missed calls, two from Nat, two from Tony, and one from Sam. Thirteen missed text messages. She opens the ones from Tony first, scanning them over and focusing on the last one. 

Tony, 6:45 AM, _Coulson has Rumlow. Sam’s okay, I’m fine. Get some rest._ Sharon lets out a sigh of relief. At least everything’s covered on that end. She throws her phone on the mattress, lacking the energy to comb through everything else. 

She jumps when her bedroom door opens and Steve pokes his head through the crack, easing himself in so as to not scare her. The relaxation she feels is immediate. It’s like all of the tense muscles in her body loosen the second she sees him. A smile spreads over her face before she can think about or stop it. 

“Hey,” he says in greeting, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He’s clean, hair wet, and he’s wearing new clothes. “Hope you don’t mind that I used your shower,” he adds, making his way over and sitting down on a not too dirty part of her bed. She feels self conscious for a second, mulling over the damage that the past two days has probably done to her hair and the rest of her body. She reaches up to pat the top of her head, wincing when she feels the knots and as she pulls away to find her fingers covered in blood and dirt. She smiles at Steve anyway. 

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m picturing you using it,” she grins, waggling her eyebrows at him. He laughs, leaning in to kiss her, and Sharon sighs into it. She wraps her arms around his neck, noting too late that she’s probably getting him dirty all over again. Steve lets out an appreciative sound against her mouth and that just spurs her on further. She shoves the covers aside, crawling clumsily into his lap. “Is this okay?” she gasps, tugging at his t-shirt. He nods, eyes wide and pupils dilated as he takes her in. 

Sharon has no idea where he got the shirt, anyway, but she doesn’t care, just slides her hands over his skin in amazement, looking back up at him. “Do you want—” He nods, cutting her off with a rough kiss, tangling his fingers in her dirty hair. 

He pulls himself back abruptly, just as she’s starting to reach for the hem of her own shirt. “We don’t have to,” he gasps, out of breath. She’s never seen him out of breath before. It makes her feel powerful, that she can do what miles and miles of running can't. “You’re still hurt.” Sharon tries to steady her own breathing, distracted by his arms. She’s never seen him without a shirt on before, and it’s just… a sight. A sight that she wonders how she ever went without before. 

“You’re right.” Sharon swallows, wincing as she tries to shift in Steve’s lap. “I think I need a shower, too.” She slowly slides out of his arms and onto her bedroom floor, hating how… weirdly empty her skin feels without him touching it. “You should come,” she says, voice oddly high pitched and hopeful. Her skin flushes slightly, embarrassed that she's being so blunt, but she’s said it and now she can’t take it back. His eyes go wide again. 

“Yeah?” he asks, surprised, and Sharon presses her lips together to hide her smile in case he thinks she’s laughing at him. She holds out a hand, grinning when he takes it. 

“Yeah."

 

* * *

 

When they make it out of the shower, clean and content and happy, Sharon pulls on and old t-shirt of hers and follows Steve into her living room. Her _clean_ living room. She whirls around on him, grateful and amazed and three quarters of the way in love with him already. 

“Steve,” she whispers in disbelief. It’s been a long time since someone has done something this nice for her. She thinks about the time that Tony had tried to bake her a cake for her tenth birthday and almost exploded Angie's kitchen; the day after she had graduated from the Academy and Peggy and Ang had taken her furniture shopping. Somehow, this was just so much better than all of her old memories put together. 

“I made breakfast, too,” he grins, and Sharon shakes her head at him, attacking him with a hug. He laughs, kissing the top of her head, and leads her to her kitchen. She watches him from a stool as he heats up everything that he’s cooked for her. He'd even made one of his famous green smoothies. 

She chugs it despite her endless previous comments and teasing, too blissed out to care about how awful healthy food is, and he smiles when she wrinkles her nose slightly at the taste. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it,” he says, as if that’ll stop her. 

“I like you,” she says, and that shuts him up. 

They watch each other in silence as Sharon eats, smiling and laughing at random moments, unable to stop. Sharon wants to freeze time right here, with him, and she never wants to leave. They hadn’t even had sex in her shower. She was too tired, too sore, but Steve didn’t mind. He’d just helped her shampoo her disgusting hair in silence and they held each other in a while, but it was still the most intimate thing that she had ever done in her life. It was the most vulnerable that she had ever been with someone. The entire world went away and Sharon wanted it go away forever. 

But the thing was, even if it didn’t, she’d still be happy. Because now that she and Steve had each other, everything suddenly seemed so possible. It didn’t matter what the entire world thought of them anymore. It mattered what she thought, and it mattered what Steve though. And they had both made it extremely clear how they felt about each other. It was liberating, in a way. It was also just… nice. 

Right in a way that her past relationships never had been. Sharon leans over the island to kiss him again, unable to get enough of him. His hands reach up to stroke her face and she smiles against his lips. She can’t stop smiling. 

“Do you want to go back to bed?” she asks him. “I’m still super tired.” 

“There’s nothing else that I could possibly want right now.”

 

* * *

 

_ 2 Months Later _

 

“When are you going to let this go and move in to Avengers Tower with me?” Steve murmurs against the shell of her ear, slowly turning them in a circle so that they can both survey the area around them. Sharon counts the exits, the men and women dressed up that are so clearly not guards or guests, steadies her breath in time with Steve’s heartbeat against her chest. 

She lets out a laugh, exaggerated for the sake of the mission but still real, pulling back from leaning her chin on his shoulder to look directly at him. “When pigs fly,” she teases, and he snorts, shaking his head in mock annoyance at her. 

“That’s funny,” he grins, “but I thought that Tony built his Iron Man suit way back in 2010.” Sharon gasps delightedly, bursting into laughter and losing her footing slightly, slapping Steve on the arm in reproach. His eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles at her. 

“I heard that,” Tony snaps into their comms units, glaring at the couple from his seat over at the bar while Steve helps Sharon regain her footing. 

“You were meant to,” Steve says, still laughing, spinning Sharon and dipping her afterwards. Her blue dress spins around her legs pleasantly before she’s in his arms looking up at him. She doesn’t think she’s ever, ever been this happy, especially not while at work. 

The music slows and Steve pulls Sharon close. His hand is resting respectfully at the top of her back and she looks up at him, eyebrows raised in a challenge. “Are we dating or are you my chaperone?” she asks him, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion. She grins at him, amused, nodding her head towards the arm that’s reaching around her back. “Come on, soldier, you can do better than that. Lower.” Steve slips his hand down to the middle of her back and she bites her lip, loving that she can tease him like this, even now that they’re dating. “Lower,” she instructs.

His hand finally reaches the base of her spine where her dress dips low. His thumb traces a patch of bare skin that’s exposed there. His cheeks are slightly red, and she loves it.

“You’re incorrigible,” he whispers, and Sharon scrunches her nose at him, unable to contain her smile. 

“You’re cute.” 

“You two are disgusting,” Tony comments in their ears. Sharon rolls her eyes. 

“Why don’t you do something besides criticize us?” she asks him, and can _see_ the annoyed face that he makes at his drink without actually needing to see him. “Have you found our mark yet?”

“He’s three couples behind you. Blue suit, ugly glasses.” Steve moves Sharon in time with the music, turning her towards he back doors to give her a perfect vantage point to see the mark. Some jewelry thief or other with ties to Hydra; Sharon hadn’t cared to learn more than necessary. Tony was their eyes, Steve was the muscle, and Sharon was the brains, put simply. Natasha was waiting in their getaway car. They all pulled their own weight in other areas, of course, but tonight they were all doing what they knew best. 

It was amazing how quickly Sharon became accustomed to working with them. She wasn’t an official Avenger, of course, but it was nice feeling like part of the family all the same. It had been an inconvenience trying to explain to Stan why she had missed all those days of work, especially when she had come back as battered and bruised as she did, but one call from Maria had put things back in order, and the CIA was as oblivious as ever. 

Strangely, Sharon sort of liked it that way. It no longer felt like she was leading a double life. Sharon knew that SHIELD needed her at the CIA, and she didn’t really care about her clearance and treatment there anymore, now that she could see the bigger picture. It felt like she finally knew her role in all of this, as simplistic as that might sound. 

Steve squeezes her arm slightly in reassurance, both for her and for him. She squeezes back, scanning his face. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at sometimes. “I love you,” she whispers, and he presses a warm kiss to her forehead. 

“I love you too. You ready, partner?” he asks, and Sharon nods. 

“Let’s get the son of a bitch.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me what you thought of this! i'm planning on writing another sharon focused fic, more about her past, after i see civil war, so hopefully you guys will want to read that. it's been a wild ride


End file.
